


Genius Fratris

by CheckAlexa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Family, Friendship, Slytherin!Harry, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheckAlexa/pseuds/CheckAlexa
Summary: Only two people know what happened the night John Potter became the Boy-Who-Lived: Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. And neither of them are talking.





	1. Prologue

The first time Harry ever heard his daddy raise his voice was when Harry was little (not a big boy, like he was now) and fell off his broomstick. It was one of those toy models that his Uncle Sirius gave him for his first birthday: it didn't go up, up, up like Daddy's did, but it was fast and he had loads of fun dodging around obstacles in the house. On this particular occasion, he was zooming around the back garden in hot pursuit of the family cat, a fuzzy old tortoiseshell with a tail just begging to be pulled. He chased her past Mummy, who was attempting to feed a crying John; around the cherry tree that stood at the edge of the property; and weaving between Daddy's legs, who stood talking with Uncle Sirius and Uncle Peter, discussing boring adult things. The cat, having enough of his antics, spun around and hissed, her hair standing on end. Harry managed to swerve her claws at the last moment, but in doing so, lost his balance and fell. In reality, it was only a few feet, but to little Harry, it might as well have been a thousand. It didn't help that he landed in Mummy's rose bushes either. Daddy shouted then, and Uncle Sirius had explained later that it was because he had been very scared.

So when the sound of Daddy's voice yelling woke him up, Harry knew that something was very, _very_, wrong.

"Lily, take the boys and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"

Daddy was making a lot of noise downstairs. There was a _boom_! that shook the entire house, causing a picture frame to fall to the floor, glass shattering into a hundred pieces. Mummy burst into his room, John in her arms, just as another blast went off downstairs. Daddy shouted even louder, and Harry could just make out the glow of spells dancing on the wall in the hallway.

"Mummy?" Harry asked, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes. He didn't have his glasses on, but he could still see Mummy dashing around the room, the furniture sliding to block the door when she waved her wand. "What—?"

Mummy scooped him up out of bed and sat him on her hip, John cradled in her other arm. She spun around, eyes squeezed shut.

Nothing happened.

"No, no, no, no, no," she muttered, spinning around again, faster. Again, faster. A fourth time she spun around so quickly, she stumbled and almost dropped Harry. Harry grabbed a fistful of Mummy's hair to keep himself upright. Mummy didn't even say anything when Harry did so, even though she didn't like it when he pulled her hair. What was happening? And why was her face was wet like John's was when he cried? Was she hungry?

"Why you cry, Mummy?" Harry asked, reaching up to pat Mummy's face.

A scary, shrill voice that Harry had never heard before laughed down below.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

It grew silent downstairs, and Mummy sobbed so hard that her body shook. She placed Harry on his bed and dropped down to kneel before him. John squirmed in her arms, letting out a wail when his mother hugged him too tightly.

"Where is Daddy?" Harry asked, looking over Mummy's shoulder. Was this some game that they were playing? But no, Daddy never shouted when they played games and a game wouldn't make Mummy look so sad. What was happening?

"Shhhh," Mummy said before kissing his forehead. "Daddy loves you."

"Where—?"

Mummy shushed him again. "Mummy loves you, Harry."

"I love you too, Mummy," Harry replied. Mummy always smiled when Harry told her that he loved her. Why wasn't she smiling?

She kissed John on the forehead and placed him on the bed next to Harry before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "Mummy and Daddy love you so much, Harry," she breathed. "We love you both so much."

But Harry didn't get the chance to respond because someone was banging outside of his bedroom. There was a moment of silence before the door burst open, sending all the furniture Mummy had put there flying. It wasn't his daddy that stood in the doorway, but a tall, thin man with waxy, bone-white skin and bloodshot eyes. He was dressed in black robes and twirled a long stick between his fingers. Harry didn't know who this stranger was, but the sight of him caused an icky feeling in Harry's stomach, the hair on his arms standing on end.

This man, Harry decided, was very, _very_ bad.

Mummy stood up to face the stranger.

"Not my babies, not my boys. Please, not my babies!" she pleaded, throwing her arms out to her sides as if doing so would shield the children behind her.

The scary man sighed as if he were annoyed. "Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now…"

But Mummy didn't move. She shook her head, her long red hair catching the moonlight that filtered through the window. "Not them. Please no, take me. Kill me instead—"

"I said stand aside!"

"Not my babies! Please, have mercy! Have mercy!"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

There was a bright flash of green light, and Mummy crumpled to the ground.

"Mummy?" Harry asked, crawling to the edge of his bed and peering down over the side. Mummy didn't respond, just stared blankly up at him, her green eyes dull and unfocused. "Are you okay?"

"She's dead," the stranger said, his high-pitched voice hurting Harry's ears.

"Mummy? Wake up, please," Harry said in his most polite voice. Mummy usually gave him what he asked for if he said it nicely. But she didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even breathe.

"She's dead," the stranger said again, this time a little more forcefully, an annoyed bite colouring his tone.

"Dead?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, dead," the man snapped.

Harry had a vague understanding of what that meant. After all, his Grandad and Granny Potter were dead too. Daddy said that meant that Harry wouldn't see them for a long, long time. "Gone?"

The man ignored Harry and instead stepped over Mummy to crouch down before him. The man was even scarier up close and had a sickly sweet smell that made Harry's nose itch. Harry tried to scoot away, but his back hit the wall behind him, trapping him in. Tears welled in his eyes as the scary man continued to watch him. John let out a wail and Harry pulled his brother into his lap.

"What is your name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied. "I'm three." Three-years-old was the reason why Daddy transfigured his cot into a big boy bed. Three-years-old meant he could hold John without Mummy or Daddy's help.

"And your brother. But which one?" the man muttered, the tip of his wand wavering between Harry and John. "No matter. You'll both be dead in a moment."

"Like Mummy?"

"Your father too."

"Daddy is dead?"

"Time to die, Harry Potter," the man whispered, his voice hissing and dry like autumn leaves on a windy day. He raised the stick— his wand, Harry realised— and pointed it at his face. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

There was another bright flash of green light, and Harry knew nothing more.

* * *

_ **"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and the other begins?" — Edgar Allen Poe, The Premature Burial** _


	2. Fall 1989

For the patrons of Kings Cross Station, the only thing pleasant about the morning of September the first was the weather. Every year without fail, families dressed in odd clothes, pushing trolleys laden with old steamer trunks and caged animals converged on Platforms Nine and Ten, and 1989 was proving to be no different. One group in particular, a messy-haired father with his equally scruffy sons wound their way through the late morning commuters at a leisurely pace, eliciting disapproving looks from the businessmen and women who were forced to dodge around them. Their tattered friend even had the audacity to let his bear-like black dog run free off of a lead. But eleven-year-old Harry Potter couldn't bring himself to care too much about the spectacle his family made, for one very thrilling reason: he was finally going to Hogwarts.

From its ever-changing floor plan to its magnificent library, Harry had listened with rapt attention to the tales his father and uncles had told him of their school days: stories of scouring the ancient corridors for secret passages, adventures (and misadventures) around the moonlit castle grounds, and quiet moments spent lounging in their cosy common room. It was where his father met his three best friends, the men Harry grew to know as uncles. It was where Harry's mother and father met and fell in love. Hogwarts was not just a school for magic, but a magical school.

His father came to a stop and pointed at a brick wall. "It's right through there."

Harry shot his father a suspicious look, trying to decide if he was having him on. It would be rather like his father to tell Harry to run at a solid barrier for a laugh. Then again, magic was odd and wizards didn't always put entrances in convenient locations (Harry shuddered and tried not to think about the time he had to step into the toilet to get to the ministry). He glanced over at his Uncle Remus nodded, a kind smile on his lips.

Deciding that the worst that could happen was that his family teased him for falling for such a silly prank (he was certain somebody would cast a softening charm if his judgement turned out to be wrong), Harry angled his trolley at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, and took off at a brisk walk. Hedwig, his new snowy owl, hooted in alarm as they approached the seemingly solid wall and Harry found his body tensing as it braced for impact.

He had worried for no reason, though, because moments later Harry found himself standing before a scarlet steam engine, the words _Hogwarts Express_ embossed in glittering gold on the front. All around him, students raced back and forth, calling out to their friends; owls hooted in their cages; one particularly disgruntled cat yowled in anger when its owner managed to stop an escape attempt; a red-faced man shouted at his son, who soared soaring above the station on his sister's stolen broom, cackling in glee. The station was absolute chaos and Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Noisy, isn't it?" Uncle Sirius asked, appearing beside him, a nostalgic expression on his face. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, giving him a small squeeze. "You're going to love it."

Harry let out a shaky breath and nodded. True, he would be learning loads of magic and make lifelong friends, but he would be leaving the familiar surroundings of home behind: he'd be away from the safety of his father and uncles. There would be no familiar faces at the breakfast table to ask him how he slept, no house elves to sneak him snacks between meals. He wasn't even permitted to bring his broomstick with him. His heart pounded against his rib cage and Harry wasn't quite sure if it was because of anxiety or excitement.

"You'll be brilliant, love," his godfather said in a low voice before pressing a kiss to his temple. "Don't let people talk over you. You have a voice; don't be afraid to use it."

Harry nodded again. Uncle Sirius levitated Harry's trunk with a wave of his wand and the two clambered aboard the train. The carriages were less crowded than the platform, but it still took several minutes of searching to find an empty compartment, Hedwig nipping at Harry's fingers whenever he jostled her cage too much. When they finally stepped back onto the platform and re-joined the rest of the Potter family, they found John in the midst of whinging to his father. The topic was one that John had complained about since the arrival of Harry's Hogwarts acceptance letter in early July.

"Why can't I go?"

"You're not old enough," James responded in an even tone. "It will be your time soon enough."

"Two years!" John replied. "That's ages away!"

"I'll write," Harry promised, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the din of the platform. A nasty feeling rose up in his stomach and he had to swallow several times to force it down. Harry had never been separated from his younger brother for any real length of time before and the idea made his stomach ache. "I'll tell you all about the castle and what I'm learning in classes."

John was only slightly appeased by this promise, but threw himself at his brother anyway, winding his arms around his waist. "I don't want you to leave," John said, his voice muffled by Harry's robes. Harry carded his fingers through his brother's unruly black hair and said nothing. It was only when the warning whistle blew that the brothers were forced to separate. John stumbled over to Uncle Remus, who scooped him up and rested him on his hip, and Harry had to look away to avoid meeting John's doleful gaze.

"Remember," his father said, kneeling before him to straighten his robes. "Keep your head down around Professor Snape. Don't give him any reasons to antagonise you. Talk to Professor McGonagall if you are having any problems."

"What if she isn't my head of house?" Harry whispered. The 'what if I'm not in Gryffindor,' was left unspoken between them. Harry didn't know how new students were sorted into the different houses, but he highly doubted that he would be selected for Gryffindor as his parents and uncles had been. They were brave and Harry… Harry was just Harry. He was bookish and cautious and didn't fill the boisterous Gryffindor stereotype as his father and Uncle Sirius seemed to.

And then there was his voice. Physically, there was nothing wrong with his throat, the healers at St Mungo's Hospital had explained. His vocal cords were all in working order and diagnostic charms showed that there was nothing wrong with his brain. And yet, for reasons nobody could quite explain, Harry's voice had the unfortunate habit of abandoning him when he needed it most. Strangers were the most difficult to communicate with, but sometimes when Uncle Remus asked him a question during magic lessons, or when his father scolded him for some wrongdoing, the words Harry desperately wanted to say would get lodged in his throat, and no amount of coughing could clear it.

It was difficult to be brave and chivalrous when you couldn't even speak.

His father raised his wand to tap the frame of Harry's glasses, leaving them shiny and clean. "She will still be one of your teachers," he pointed out. "Houses are just support systems. They don't define you."

Harry wanted to point out that his father must be one of the only people to actually believe it, but he couldn't force the words out. He settled for a nod and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his neck. His father's arms encircled him, and Harry let himself sink into his father's warm embrace, inhaling the warm scent of his cologne.

"I love you, Harry," his father murmured in his ear. "We'll see you at Christmas."

Harry nodded in understanding, clinging to his father for a moment longer. "I love you too," he replied. If his father heard Harry's voice wavering, he was kind enough not to point it out.

The train's whistle sounded once more, and his father nudged him towards the train, closing the carriage door behind him when he was safely aboard. The train bleched more steam into the air and Harry could barely make out John as he ran alongside the train, waving.

The ride to Hogwarts was uneventful. Harry sat alone in his compartment, annotating his charms book with questions he wanted to ask and dog-earing pages with spells he wanted to try once he got to school. When he got up to fetch a new book from his trunk, he noticed that he had been joined by an older student, a boy with curly red hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and red lined robes that were slightly too short for him.

"You missed the food trolley," the boy said in a bossy sort of voice.

Harry nodded and buried himself in _Magical Draughts and Potions_. He wasn't very hungry anyway.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the Sorting Hat, which had concluded its song, and Professor McGonagall was reading off names. One by one, the crowd of first years around him thinned, the students sitting at the long tables on either side of him applauding for those who joined their ranks. Finally, "Potter, Harry!" was called, and he floated forward as if in a dream and climbed onto the wooden stool. The thick fabric obscured his vision of the Great Hall but did little to muffle the sibilant whispers ("Potter?" "As in John Potter?") of the other students.

_Hmmm…_

Harry had to resist the urge to jump at the quiet voice that wormed its way into his head.

_Very interesting, very interesting… A good mind I see… yes, very interesting, indeed._

_Ravenclaw, please,_ Harry thought at the hat.

The hat gave him what could only be described as a chuckle._ My friend_, it wheezed, _you are the least suited for Ravenclaw than any other house._

Harry baulked at that. He liked to think he was rather intelligent.

_Tell me, what do you know about Ravenclaw?_

Uncle Sirius described them as a bunch of swotty bookworms. Uncle Remus had glared at Uncle Sirius' response and told Harry in a stern voice that the brightest students often came from Ravenclaw.

_They prefer learning knowledge for knowledge's sake_, the hat chided. _They learn to satisfy their own curiosity. They don't seek to use their knowledge as a means to an end._

Harry didn't know how to respond to that.

_No comment? Well then, it better be_ "SLYTHERIN!"

There were no cheers from the table beneath the green and silver banner, no polite claps from any other students. Just silence.

A Potter in Slytherin. It almost sounded like the set up to a cruel joke. But no, the Sorting Hat was removed from his head and Professor McGonagall nudged him off the little wooden stool. He took his place at the end of the Slytherin table and perched on the edge of the bench, his back ramrod straight, waiting for the sorting to conclude. Professor Dumbledore stood and addressed the school. Food appeared on the gold platters in front of him and conversations sprang up around him. Harry might need glasses to see but he wasn't blind to the fact the closest student sat several seats away from him. That was fine. He wasn't sure he would be able to speak anyway— his throat was too dry.

When the Welcoming Feast was over, he followed a fifth-year prefect down to the dungeons. The common room was dim and cold and the roaring fire did little besides casting eerie shadows against the walls. Older students had already claimed the elegant furniture by the time first-years arrived and paid no attention to the new Slytherins as they filtered up the stone steps to their respective dormitories. Harry was the last one up and the other boys turned towards him when he entered. He swallowed hard and tried to force something out of his mouth, anything that could be construed as an introduction- some sort of greeting to assure them that he came in peace.

Silence. Well, Harry was no stranger to silence. He hoped that his new dorm mates wouldn't be either.

Genius Fratris

It started off harmless enough: whispers, asking what the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived is doing in the house of snakes. Some asked if they had heard Harry Potter speak yet and wondered what his voice sounded like. In Potions, Professor Snape's oily voice asked him difficult questions that Harry would have had no way of knowing if he hadn't already read the book. Harry had, of course, read the text and knew the answers, but when he opened his mouth to reply, no sound came out. The other students giggled behind their hands and Professor Snape fixed him with a calculating glare. Harry's cheeks burned with shame and he had the inexplicable feeling that he had failed a test.

The next week, Atticus Nettles sat next to him in Transfiguration and asked to borrow a quill. Surprised that someone from his house was speaking to him, Harry nodded and handed the item over. When the bell rang at the end of the class, Atticus bolted out the door before Harry had the chance to face him. On the table rested Harry's quill, mangled and broken beyond repair.

"Is everything alright, Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked when he didn't move, her stern voice belying her concern.

Harry glanced out the door where he could still see Nettles, standing with the other first-year Slytherins. They were watching him with narrowed eyes, waiting to see how he would react. Harry didn't understand the purpose of destroying his property. He wondered if it was a Slytherin thing— a power play, perhaps. Or maybe it was an eleven-year-old boy thing. Aside from his brother, Harry never spent much time with boys his age before his arrival at Hogwarts, so it was difficult to know what was normal behaviour.

In the end, he shook his head and gathered his belongings, broken quill and all, and fled the room.

Harry skipped dinner that night. He told himself it was because he wanted to finish a Charms essay and not because he didn't want to interact with the boys in his dorm. He tucked himself away in the farthest recesses of the library and surrounded himself with textbooks, his fingers growing stained with ink as he painstakingly copied the diagrams and illustrations the authors provided. He practised wand movements with a quill, unwilling to pull out his wand and attract the ire of the sour-looking librarian, Madam Pince. She still scowled at him when she stumbled across him a few hours later and shooed him out of the library, claiming it was time to close.

Harry made it back to the Slytherin common room before curfew with only moments to spare. He ducked behind a group of older students to avoid his year mates, who were huddled around a table in the corner, laughing raucously. He sneaked up to the dormitory, and the source of the other first years' laughter soon became apparent: the entire contents on his trunk had been dumped on the floor.

"Oops," Edmund Sparrow said, not sounding very sorry at all when he kicked Harry's copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ under Adrian Pucey's bed.

It only got worse from there. The next morning, Harry found his shoes spelled to the floor, causing him to miss breakfast. A week later, he was hit with no less than nineteen stinging hexes in a single day. By the time October rolled around, the other first-year Slytherins had graduated from minor annoyances to nasty jinxes, including one spell that switched his knees backwards and required an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing.

Harry tried to not let it bother him.

_It says far more about their character than it does your own, Harry._ Uncle Remus wrote him in one letter.

His father encouraged him to speak with Professor McGonagall about the bullying. _I'd tell you to talk to your Head of House about it, but, well…_

Uncle Sirius sent him a spellbook called _Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts_, which Harry shoved in his bag after opening.

(Later that night, he stayed up far past midnight, the curtains on his four-poster drawn tightly as he studied the book by wand light.)

Unsure of what to do, Harry kept his head down and ignored the other Slytherin first years, hoping that they would get bored of him if he didn't react. He became rather adept at dodging leg locker curses and ducking under jinxes that otherwise would have caused leeks to sprout from his ears. He learned to sit by the fire in the common room and ignore the hissed conversations about him. He focused on memorising dates for goblin rebellions and how to recognise vampires, and he excelled in his classes. When he overheard that Cordelia Gamp received a twenty per cent for her Herbology essay about puffapods, he held onto the knowledge that he had received an eighty-four per cent when she later taunted him for being a dummy.

Of course, it was much easier to do well in classes when they were only studying magical theory. By the end of October, however, this changed. It started out with a rumour that the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws got to perform real magic in Charms. It was confirmed the next day by Fred and George Weasley, who took advantage of their new knowledge and used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to pelt the Slytherins with dragon dung during Herbology. The Slytherins, who didn't have Charms until the end of the week, scowled at the two redheaded menaces and grumbled under their breath as they tended to their wormwood.

The announcement sent alternating thrills of excitement and fear through Harry's veins. On one hand, he had practised _Wingardium Leviosa_ during the many hours he spent in the library. He knew the incantation, the wand movement, the purpose of the spell and how intent factored into casting it. He knew he could cast it and was eager to prove to everyone that he could do it. On the other hand, Harry was terrified that his voice would leave him again, as it had done hundreds of times since the start of term.

He sent his father a letter expressing his concerns and asked for his opinion on the matter. His father had been sympathetic to Harry's plight and offered him advice to the best of his abilities, though he admitted that the advice could only go so far if Harry was unable to speak in public.

_A calming draught would work, I suppose,_ James had written in his most recent letter. _Though it would be a short term solution at best. Calming draughts aren't made for repeated doses; taking more than a few a month causes sluggish movement and ravenous hunger._

Harry sighed and refolded the letter before sticking it between the pages of _The Whistling Syllabus: Spells and Enchantments That Cause a Ruckus_. If only there were a way to cast spells without speaking… Harry froze in realisation, and Hedwig, whom he had been petting, ruffled her wings and nipped at his fingers. Harry had seen his father and Uncle Remus do magic silently before, and Uncle Sirius rarely ever used incantations. It had to be possible to do magic without speaking.

Tossing Hedwig a piece of bacon, Harry rose from the Slytherin table and raced out of the Great Hall. Without making a conscious decision, he found himself outside the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor McGonagall was setting out teapots for her first class of the day. After catching his breath (and gathering his nerve), Harry knocked on the door and slid into the room at the Deputy Headmistress' invitation.

"Potter," she greeted, tapping her wand against the tray she had been carrying, sending it zooming back to her desk. "What can I do for you?"

Harry grinned pointing at her wand, then motioning to her mouth.

Minerva had heard of Harry's proclivity for miming things (both from her fellow professors and from the letters she had exchanged with James) though she had yet to experience it first-hand. It was just as vague and frustrating as the others had described, and Minerva had to remind herself not to become impatient with the shy eleven-year-old. "You would like to know which spell I used?" she guessed.

Harry shook his head, frustration flashing across his face.

Minerva could relate.

"You didn't use an incantation," Harry said, and it took everything in Minerva not to jump like a spooked cat at the unexpected noise. It was deeper than she imagined it would be, yet less rough. None of her colleagues had heard his voice, and many of them had a bet running to see who could get him to speak first. Severus would be furious to learn that he lost. "How?"

Minerva considered the boy in front of her. His green eyes sparkled with curiosity, much like his mother's used to and the sight made her smile. "It's called non-verbal spell casting," she explained patiently. "As the name suggests, it allows the witch or wizard to cast spells without the need to speak an incantation. It requires a great deal of mental discipline and practice to be able to do it."

"Can you teach me?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Mr Potter," she said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "I understand why non-verbal spell casting would appeal to you. But it is difficult magic and something we only expect from NEWT students. It would be beyond the capabilities of a first-year, I'm afraid to say."

He nodded slowly, his eyes dimming. Minerva felt her heart jolt in pain at the sight. Still, it would be no use trying to get the boy's hopes up in learning a magical feat many grown wizards had difficulties with. Harry retreated from the classroom soon after, his head hanging low in defeat, and Minerva was left with that hot, shameful knowledge that she had failed her student.

Harry wandered dejectedly to Charms, the corridors still empty with the rest of the school finishing up breakfast. He tried to remind himself that he already knew how to perform the Levitation Charm, so there was no need to be nervous about performing it. Besides, the Charms classroom was often noisy so nobody would be paying him much attention anyway. He just needed to focus on the spell and relax.

"… honestly, I don't know why he's even still here." The unmistakable drawl of Atticus Nettles reached his ears, and Harry had just enough time to slip behind a suit of armour as his dorm mates passed by. Nettles appeared to be holding court amongst the first-years, not only surrounded by his usual posse of boys, but several of the girls had joined him as well.

"He can't even cast spells," Warrington agreed. "What sort of a wizard can't cast spells?"

"Is he even a wizard?" Beatrice Trouche pondered aloud.

Nettles snorted. "Potter's as good as a squib if you ask me."

They continued around the corner, but the sound of their laughter continued to ring in Harry's ears long after they had drifted out of earshot. When he finally emerged from his hiding spot, Harry did so in an almost dissociated state that left his brain feeling hazy and his fingers cold. It was only when an older student bumped into him, grumbling about 'dumb firsties' blocking the corridor, did Harry begin to move. He dragged himself to the Charms classroom, sliding into a seat near the back at the last possible moment. The dark-haired Hufflepuff in the chair next to him gave him a nod, but Harry couldn't bring himself to reciprocate.

Harry tried to remind himself that their words weren't true, that he was a proper wizard, who knew how to cast proper spells, and his inability to always speak didn't make him any less deserving of an education. If Uncle Remus were with him, he would say that the other students teased him because they didn't understand him. Uncle Sirius would say that the Slytherins were dull and had nothing better to do with their time than to gossip about someone they didn't know. His father would say that the bullies were mean because they felt like they were missing something in their own lives, and it had nothing to do with Harry. Still, it didn't stop Harry from feeling mortified that his peers saw him in such a negative light.

It was quite fortunate that Harry had already studied the levitation charm because he didn't hear a word of Professor Flitwick's lecture. When Harry didn't move, the Hufflepuff nudged him and repeated Flitwick's order to practice Wingardium Leviosa on their quills. Withdrawing his wand, Harry glared at his quill, which lay in deceptive innocence on top of his unopened spellbook as if it were mocking him.

_Wingardium Leviosa_. Two words. Just two simple, blooming words. His lips formed the syllables, he could almost taste the incantation on his tongue. Only, to absolutely nobody's surprise, no sound came out of his mouth. He glared harder at the quill and tried again. And again. All around him, quills were beginning to take off. A girl squealed in delight when her turkey feather quill did an elegant loop-de-loop at her command.

Harry felt dizzy from the effort, but the feather remained stubbornly on the table. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he say the words? He knew them. He could pronounce them just fine. So why couldn't he make the stupid feather move now like he had every other time he had practised it? _Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa._

Nothing.

Harry cast a dark look at the feather and considered setting it on fire. Words shouldn't matter, he thought. He was still a wizard whether he used his voice or not. His father didn't need words to make things float in the air, so why should Harry? What was the difference between his magic and his fathers? (Seventeen more years of experience, Harry supposed.)

Harry glared at the feather, imagined the feather shooting two, five, ten feet up into the air. He pointed his holly wand at it and in his head _screamed_ the incantation. Screamed it as loud as possible, with all the desperation he felt and the power he knew his voice could possess if only sound would just come out of his mouth when he needed it. This feather would move. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't worthless.

There was a bang and the next thing Harry knew, his quill was embedded in the ceiling.

"Well done, Mr Potter!" Professor Flitwick cheered, bustling over to him. He summoned Harry's errant quill with a flick of his wand and handed it back to Harry, a large smile on his face. "Ten points to Slytherin. Keep practising, but perhaps with less gusto this time!"

Harry couldn't keep the blush or the grin off his face.

The Hufflepuff sitting next to him watched him, his grey eyes wide with shock. "How did you do that?"

Harry shrugged and pointed his copy of_ Standard Book of Spells, Grade One._

The boy shook his head. "No, I mean, without speaking. How did you do that? I can't even make it move with the incantation." To prove his point, he swished and flicked his wand and intoned, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Harry watched several more failed attempts by the boy, who was indeed saying the incantation and executing the movements correctly except… Harry grabbed his partner's quill (his own being too bent to write with after its encounter with the ceiling) and scribbled a note in the corner of the Hufflepuff's textbook.

_You're left-handed._

"What's that got to do with anything?"

_It's backwards, I think._

Harry couldn't be certain, of course, but his father was left-handed, and he had noticed that most of his spells looked different than Uncle Sirius'.

The Hufflepuff glanced between Harry and the notes, a dubious expression on his face. After a moment, he must have figured he had nothing to lose by following Harry's suggestion and pointed his wand at Harry's crumpled feather. He reversed the movements of the spell, taking extra care to pronounce the words. Then, as if an invisible string was attached to the quill, it lifted a few inches off the desk and hovered between the two boys.

"Potter, isn't it?" When Harry nodded, the Hufflepuff stuck out his hand for him to shake, a grin splitting across his face. "Cedric Diggory. It's nice to meet you."

Harry's newfound friendship didn't stop his dorm mates from harassing him and damaging his belongings. It didn't stop Professor Snape from singling Harry out and asking him difficult questions that were unrelated to the potion they were learning that day or belittling him when he was unable to respond. It didn't stop him from eating alone at the Slytherin table every meal or from that awful third-year Terrence Higgs from casting switching spells on the salt shaker and the sugar bowl whenever Harry reached for one.

But that was okay. Because when the weather was nice, they would walk around the Black Lake and Cedric would chatter for hours about whatever crossed his mind. And when they had classes together, Cedric would read Harry's written questions and ask the professor for him. After dinner, the two would sit together in the library and do their homework together. Cedric never asked Harry why he didn't speak or pressure him to talk. (Cedric talked enough for the two people, anyway.) He appreciated Harry for his silence and his intellect instead.

And for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry didn't feel so alone.

* * *

**_"Silence make the real conversations between friends. Not the saying, but the never needing to say that counts." ―_Margaret Lee Runbeck**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes hello. Not dead. Depressed perhaps. But this story has not been abandoned. Let me know what you thought of it! -CA


	3. Winter 1989

Before he knew it, had winter arrived and with it came the Christmas holidays. The First Year boy's dormitory was a hive of activity with the boys scrambling to locate misplaced textbooks and track down wayward shoes. He was quite looking forward to a week away from the dreary dungeon dormitories, and even more excited to be free from the nasty pranks the other boys played on him. Though, the day they were to leave for the Christmas holidays wasn't so bad: for once, his dorm mates were ignoring Harry, though this was mostly because Graham Montague was boasting about his family's holiday to Bulgaria (as he had been doing for weeks). Atticus Nettles, finally having enough, tossed Montague's trunk in the bath, ruining most of its contents. Harry slipped out of the dormitory to the dulcet sounds of Montague's screeches, not wanting to stick around and witness the fallout.

Shrugging his bag over his shoulder (he wondered if there was a charm he could learn to make it weigh less?), Harry joined the throngs of other Slytherins as they filtered out of the common room, winding their way through the dungeons and up onto the grounds. Cedric was already waiting for Harry in the Entrance Hall and surrounded by a large group of friends. When he saw Harry, Cedric broke away from the Hufflepuff horde and fell into step beside him, slinging his arm over Harry's shoulder. Harry listened patiently to his friend regale him with a colourful account of Hufflepuff's annual Christmas party. The highlights included: Professor Sprout catching Benji Hardwick snogging one of Filch's mops and four Sixth Years being treated for alcohol poisoning. Harry wondered if non-Hufflepuffs could be invited.

The boys fastened their winter cloaks and donned their gloves, joining the long line of eager students filtering out onto the school grounds. Harry and Cedric shielded their heads with their bags against stray snowballs Fred and George Weasley were tossing at each other and waded through the knee-deep snow to the carriages that were to take them to Hogsmeade Station. Cedric's Hufflepuff friends followed after, cramming far more bodies into the space than the carriage allowed. Harry even managed to trade a few words with the girl sitting across from him about Transfiguration.

One cramped ("Cosy," Cedric corrected.) carriage ride later, the First Years found themselves at Hogsmeade Station, the Hogwarts Express barely visible behind the thick plumes of smoke. Despite the fact that the train wouldn't leave for half an hour, Cedric ran ahead to claim a compartment. Harry followed at a more leisurely pace, sneaking glances at snow-capped Hogsmeade Village, which he wasn't permitted to visit until this Third Year. Well, he did have a few minutes before the train left. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him, locking eyes with only a nearby horse. Perhaps one quick trip to Honeydukes—

Wait, a horse?

Harry did a double-take, and sure enough, a horse was standing less than three metres from him, hitched to the closest carriage. Though Harry had to admit that the term 'horse' was being rather generous. It looked more like an animated Abraxan corpse, in his opinion. His eyes darted over the skeletal horse, taking in its leathery, bat-like wings and milky eyes. It stood so still it might have been carved from obsidian, the effect betrayed only by its dark mane which blew in the wind. The creature was almost beautiful, in a macabre sort of way.

A single thought popped into his head, so clear and so strong, all other thoughts were silenced: he needed to pet the horse. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Harry stepped closer to the beast and raised a hand, placing it on the creature's neck. The skeleton horse tossed its head and gave him a suspicious look, but when it didn't try to take a bite out of him, Harry gave its neck a slow stroke. Petting the beast wasn't like petting an Abraxan, or even a normal horse: it didn't have a coat, but rather a velvety kind of skin that was stretched tight over its bones, reminding Harry of the hairless cats he had seen at the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley.

_No, not a beast,_ Harry thought, running his fingers through the horse's mane. The creature let out a shrill, haunting, birdlike shriek, its white eyes flickering shut. The sight reminded him of Uncle Sirius when he was in his Animagus form and Harry couldn't keep a small grin off his face. Reaching into his rucksack, he extracted an apple and offered it to the horse. It opened a pupil-less eye, giving the proffered apple a critical look before turning its sharp beak-like nose up at it.

"That was for lunch, anyway," Harry explained with a giggle before tucking the apple away. The horse tracked his movements before lowering its head and nosing Harry's bag. "I don't have much," he explained, pulling out the roast beef sandwich he had asked a house-elf to prepare for him. In a flash, the horse reached forward, snatching up the meat, and left Harry holding a handful of bread.

"Carnivore, eh?" He asked.

The horse shrieked in response.

"I'll see what I can do when I get back," he promised. Giving the horse a final pat, Harry turned and boarded the train.

It didn't take too long to find Cedric— all he had to do was find the loudest compartment filled with kids wearing yellow. His friend patted the vacant seat next to him and Harry's heart warmed as he wiggled into the tight spot.

"What took you so long?" Cedric asked, his voice dropping down to a softer, less boisterous tone. "Was it your dorm mates again?"

Harry shook his head and pointed out the window. "I was petting a horse."

"What horse?" a girl asked asked, breaking off her conversation with her friend to look out the window. "I didn't see any horses. Where were they?"

Harry thought the girl would have to be blind to miss the massive animals. Besides, what did she think had pulled the carriages? He pointed out the window in response.

She rolled her eyes. "Really? I thought they were in our compartment."

"That's enough, Niobe," Cedric said, cutting her off. "Lay off him, alright?"

"Yes," Niobe's friend chimed in, a smile playing at his lips. "We all know how sensitive Snakes are, don't we?"

It took a moment for Harry to realise that he was teasing him, rather than mocking him, though his confusion was understandable. He had, after all, spent the last four months trying to decipher the tone of his dorm mates' words, which were always laced with insults. But having a go at someone didn't always equate to malice, and his father and uncles were often sarcastic with each other without being mean. That's what friends did, right?

Heart pounding, Harry let out a hiss and flicked his tongue like a snake.

Niobe's friend cackled with glee and tossed a chocolate frog at his head.

The rest of the train ride pasted in an uneventful, sugar-filled rush. Harry was more than content to sit back and watch the proceedings of the compartment. He had rarely witnessed his friend with other students outside of class, but it was clear that Cedric was the leader of the group, though he wasn't a heavy handed dictator, like Nettles. He exuded a kind of charisma, even at twelve years old, that drew every eye towards him. He played peacekeeper when Niobe and Keith Whitmore broke out into an argument about the usefulness of Divination, and knew when to best draw Harry into the conversation. Kind and fair, Cedric seemed to embody the very definition of Hufflepuff, and after months of watching Slytherin power plays, it was refreshing to witness.

All too soon, the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and after promising to write, Harry exited the train. Almost immediately, a tiny black-haired figure collided with him, and if it weren't for Cedric catching him, Harry would have toppled over.

"John—" James said, appearing only to grab Harry's little brother by the scruff of the neck and pull him away. "How many times do I have to tell you? We don't run off in public!" James crossed his arms and looked down his long nose at his youngest son and began to lecture him on the dangers of disappearing into crowds. Uncle Remus hovered a few feet away, torn between looking stern and laughing at his friend's plight.

"Hullo, Harry," Uncle Sirius said, sauntering past James, a smile quirking at his lips. He pulled his godson into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Did you have a good term?"

But before Harry got the opportunity to respond, Uncle Sirius was elbowed out of the way. "Get off my kid, you mangy mutt," James snapped, leaning down to embrace Harry.

For a moment, Harry leaned into his father's arms, inhaling the woody scent that clung to his clothes and soaking in the warmth that radiated from James's body. His father's wool cloak was soft against his cheek and the steady thudding of his heart was a familiar and comforting beat in his ear. He was surrounded by a feeling of warmth and safety that only his father could provide, and even though they hadn't even arrived at Potter Manor, Harry felt like he was already home. When Harry pulled away, he looked up into his father's smiling face, his hazel eyes dancing behind his glasses.

"How was your trip?"

Harry shrugged before gesturing to Cedric, who was still standing behind him, looking amused.

"You must be Mr Diggory. I've heard much about you," James said, reaching forward to shake the Hufflepuff's hand. "You're the one who keeps my son from becoming a hermit."

"I try, but he's quite determined," Cedric said, laughing when Harry stuck out his tongue.

"A shame," Uncle Sirius chimed in with a solemn nod, ignoring Harry's indignant splutters. "Don't let him corrupt you."

"I'll do my best," Cedric said.

"In the end, I suppose that's all we can ask for," James agreed. "Now, where are your parents? Your father is Amos, yes?"

Cedric nodded and shouldered his bag before leading Harry and his family through the throngs of students and parents. John's attention was divided between welcoming home his older brother and pestering Cedric about Hogwarts. Cedric took the questions in stride, patiently answering John's questions about the castle ("No, I haven't encountered a jaguar on the grounds yet, but there's still time!") whilst scouring the platform for signs of his parents.

"There he is!" A man who could only be Mr Diggory exclaimed, brushing past the bored-looking woman and sweeping Cedric up into a hug. "My boy!"

Cedric, for his part, didn't look embarrassed by his father's actions, even though his feet were dangling several inches off the ground. He greeted his father with the same warm tone he used with everybody, and when his father set him back on his feet, wandered over to his mother to kiss her cheek. Cedric turned back around, his mouth open in what Harry assumed to be an introduction of the Potters, but was cut off by his father.

"By Jove, it can't be," Mr Diggory said, his eyes widening so the whites were visible. "It can't be! But is this John Potter?"

There was a hush that fell over the platform, and it felt like every head turned in their direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Boy Who Lived. Unaware, Mr Diggory leaned forward to shake John's hand, all the while exclaiming what an honour it was to meet him. Emboldened by Mr Diggory's approach of the Boy Who Lived, children and grown adults alike flocked towards Harry's little brother, clamouring to meet him. John squeaked in panic and buried his face in Uncle Remus's robes.

This reaction was nothing new to the Potters. Ever since that fateful Halloween night eight years ago, the Wizarding population of magical Britain heralded John Potter their saviour. Wherever the family went, people demanded John's attention, asking him for autographs or interviews. There was even the odd marriage proposal. And those were the nice ones. There were people who weren't happy with John's defeat of Lord Voldemort and weren't always the most subtle about showing it. Harry had a vivid memory of taking a bone-breaker curse for his brother when he was nine by a man in a black robe, cutting their trip to Diagon Alley short in favour of a visit to St Mungo's.

In response, his father seldom ventured out of the family manor, and even more rarely let Harry or his brother off the grounds. The fact that John was even standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters meant that his brother had had to beg for several days to come pick him up. And now that Mr Diggory had drawn the attention of everyone on the platform, it was probably the last time John would be allowed out in public for quite some time. Sure enough, Uncle Remus extracted John out of the clutches of a particularly handsy middle-aged witch and Disapparated with a loud _crack!_ Harry let out a heavy sigh and gave a weak smile to Cedric, who was watching the whole fiasco with wide eyes.

"Is he going to be okay?" Cedric shouted so he could be heard over all the voices. Sure, Harry had described the bedlam that seemed to follow his little brother around, but it was another thing to experience it for yourself.

Harry nodded and rolled his eyes. Giving his friend a parting wave, he grabbed onto his father's arm and braced himself for the uncomfortable sensation of Disapparition.

After he had finished retching and the sick was vanished away, Harry followed his father up the steps of Potter Manor. The front entryway had already been decorated with garland and holly, giving the usually cold and intimidating marble room a festive cheer. Someone (Harry suspected Uncle Sirius) had even placed reindeer antlers on an ancestor's bust. Following his nose, Harry wandered to the kitchen where the scent of gingerbread was strongest. There he found his brother and uncles wearing aprons, a streak of icing across Uncle Remus' cheek. John was complaining loudly and could be heard over the Christmas carols playing on the wireless, which was an impressive feat considering Uncle Sirius kept pointing his wand at it and increasing the volume. The Potter's house-elf scurried around, collecting up dirty bowls and pans, pausing only to sink into a low bow when he saw Harry and James.

"What do you have in this bag, love?" His father asked, following him into the kitchen and placing Harry's bag down on the table. "The entire Hogwarts Library?"

"Madam Pince only allows First Years to borrow out eight books at a time," Harry said with barely concealed annoyance. Harry had learned that the hard way after Professor Snape had assigned a three-foot essay on the uses of fungi in antifungal tinctures. Not only had he gotten banned from the library for a week, but he only received a twenty-three on the essay. He was still annoyed about that.

Uncle Remus raised his eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the frosting still smeared across his cheek. "She also doesn't allow them to be removed from school grounds."

"Then the lending period shouldn't be longer than the winter holidays," Harry retorted. He slid into the seat next to John, who offered him a mug of hot chocolate.

"Prongs," Uncle Sirius said in mock horror. "The Slytherins have already corrupted your son."

"No," James replied, swiping a gingerbread man from the wire cooling racks. "You corrupted my son. Several years ago."

"Oh, yes," Uncle Sirius said, shaking his long hair out of his eyes and shooting a playful wink at Harry. "I do recall something like that happening."

Innocence corrupted or no, the family spent the next several hours catching up. Sure, they had exchanged letters and Harry received the odd care package or two, but it wasn't quite the same. Letters didn't light up like John did when he described the herd of faeries that had taken up residence in the flower garden, nor could they quite convey Uncle Remus' embarrassment when Harry passed along Nymphadora Tonks' 'love'. Even Uncle Sirius' announcement that he had obtained two whole weeks off work for the Christmas holidays was more exciting coming from the man's mouth.

Harry described his exploration of the castle, and how Cedric had managed to locate the school's kitchen (though they still had yet to figure out how to access it). John, in particular, was excited to hear about the house Quidditch teams, and Harry admitted he was considering trying out for the Slytherin team come September. Classes were interesting, he reassured Uncle Remus (who had tutored both him and John before Harry had left for Hogwarts), though some of the professor's teaching methods left much to be desired, and he wouldn't mind fewer essays.

"Speaking of," James said, interrupting his eldest son's story. "How have your practical lessons been? You wrote that you were having trouble casting spells in class."

"I say them in my head," Harry responded with a shrug.

The three adults in the room exchanged confused looks. "In your head?"

Harry nodded and took a sip of his hot cocoa, a bit of foam sticking to the tip of his nose. "So I don't have to talk. It takes a few tries, but it's getting a lot easier."

"Harry," Uncle Remus said in his best teacher voice. "There is no way you can do that."

Harry peered over the top of his mug, his glasses fogging over from the steam. "I asked Professor McGonagall about it. She called it nonverbal spell casting," he said. "Uncle Sirius does it all the time."

"Yes, but you're eleven."

Harry pointed his wand at the half-eaten gingerbread man in his father's hand and silently cast a silent _tarantallegra_ at it. The gingerbread man jumped onto the table and began to perform a lively jig despite only having one leg. John whooped in delight and offered his own gingerbread man for Harry to charm next.

"Harry James, you know better than to use magic outside of school. Do you want to get expelled?" his father said, looking torn between praising Harry for the impressive display of magic and scolding him for breaking the rules.

"An underage wizard can use magic outside of school in life-threatening situations as per the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," Harry recited. He had checked.

"Yes, but the only danger you are currently in is being grounded."

"Besides, it's not like they will know it was me," Harry continued, pushing back the sleeves of his robes and resting his elbows on the table. "The Trace is activated by magic being performed _around_ an underage child, not_ by_ an underage child."

"Damn," James muttered under his breath. He fixed Harry with an annoyed expression. "You weren't supposed to know that."

"I picked up a few tricks in Slytherin," Harry replied with a shrug. "It's not all murdering kittens and ritual sacrifices."

"Regardless," James said. "It's up to parents to enforce the 'no magic outside of school rule.' So, I'm confiscating your wand until the end of the holidays."

With great reluctance, Harry placed his holly and phoenix feather wand in his father's outstretched hand, feeling naked without it on his person.

"Fat lot of good that will be, I reckon, if he's anything like Lily," Uncle Sirius chimed in from his seat at the table, pretending to read the _Evening Prophet_. "She didn't always need a wand."

"Mum could do wandless magic?" Harry asked in surprise.

James shot his best friend an irritated look. "Limited amounts—"

"She could make things fly."

His father shot a stinging hex and Uncle Sirius yelped in surprise. "Stop giving him ideas!"

Uncle Remus finally recovered from his shock and fixed him with a calculating stare. "How did you do that, Harry?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I practised," he said in a small voice. He toed the table leg, trying to avoid his uncle's intense gaze. It reminded him a little of how some of the professors watched him at school, and it made him feel uneasy. "I mean, it wasn't easy, but neither is getting out of the fireplace without tripping, and you manage that alright."

"Nonverbal magic at twelve is different than Floo travel," Uncle Remus pointed out.

Thankfully, Harry was saved from having to answer when Uncle Sirius let out a bark-like laugh and reached over to muse Harry's already untidy hair. "Moony, you're talking to the child of the man who became an Animagus at fifteen and managed to create a map of Hogwarts," he said before planting a kiss to Harry's temple. "The Potters don't do anything in half measure."

Whether it was intentional or not, the distraction worked, and Uncle Remus's focus was redirected to reminiscing about their school days. Harry and John listened with rapt attention as their father and uncles described the mischief they managed to cause and the pranks they had liked to pull. Stories of Harry's mother would pop up occasionally, and James would only look slightly sad as he told them.

"Whatever happened to the map?" John asked after a particularly fanciful story about Divination, nose biting teacups, and several kilos of Honeydukes' peanut butter fudge.

"Filch confiscated it," James said with a shrug. "He said he wanted to destroy it."

"A damn shame if he did," Uncle Sirius said. "It was a work of art."

"It was written on the back of a spare bit of parchment. Dorcas Meadows even used it to spit out her chewing gum once," Uncle Remus pointed out.

"She was also a work of art," Uncle Sirius replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and when Harry turned into bed that evening, he had a content smile on his face. He had missed his family's antics and noise, and his father's liberal gifting of hugs stood in stark contrast to the Slytherins' cool attitudes. And when John crawled into bed with him, Harry realised he had missed that too. Home was warm and lively, whereas the common room at school was cold and sterile. While he didn't want to leave Hogwarts, Harry sometimes wanted to get away from it all. The stares of the other students, the mean spirited pranks, and his dorm mates' cruelty had started to weigh heavily on his shoulders. If only he could find a way to sneak off to be alone, perhaps his time at Hogwarts wouldn't be so arduous.

The answer came to him at once, and he felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner: the Marauder's Map.

That would make it so much easier to avoid his tormentors. Sure, Filch had over a decade to destroy it. But what if he hadn't? Filch was a Squib and the Marauder's Map was a magical object. Who's to say that he had been able to? For all Harry knew, the map could still be in the caretaker's office. It wouldn't be hard to sneak in and search for the map, though he would need a lookout. He didn't relish the idea of being caught rummaging in Filch's office. He'd have to send a letter in the morning— Cedric would no doubt view the heist as a grand adventure.

He fell asleep that night with plans of mischief and magic, his brother's head heavy on his shoulder.

Genius Fratris

Christmas morning started in the early hours of dawn for Harry when a large black dog jumped on his chest, knocking the air out of him. From there he was herded down to the lounge, the dog nipping at his bum when he moved too slowly. He stumbled into his brother on the staircase, who was looking far too chipper for so early in the morning. The brothers entered the lounge together and were greeted with the sight of a massive tinsel covered tree, beneath which sat dozens of colourfully wrapped gifts. John squealed with delight and raced forward to inspect the presents, sorting them out for the intended recipient. Harry followed at a more sedate pace, slumping into one of the chairs next to the roaring fire.

"You know, Sirius," James said, shuffling into the room and clutching a large mug of coffee. "Christmas doesn't need to be celebrated at four in the morning."

The large dog gave an indignant bark before transforming back into Harry's godfather. "Bite your tongue, you filthy heathen."

Grumbles and drowsiness aside, the Potter family tore into the presents with an ardent ferocity. By the time Uncle Remus arrived for breakfast, nothing was left but empty boxes and shredded wrapping paper. From his father, Harry received new clothes while Uncle Remus opted to get him several books (_Fundamentals of Spell Creation_ looked particularly interesting). Uncle Sirius' gift, though, garnered the most attention: tickets to the four-hundred and twenty-first Quidditch World Cup, which would be held in June.

"You're spoiling them, Sirius," James said with a heavy, resigned sigh.

Uncle Sirius gave an unconcerned shrug. "What's the point of being fabulously wealthy if I can't spoil my nephews?" He asked before picking up a dancing John and spinning him in a circle. "Besides, you and Remus are coming too."

"Oh, are we?" Uncle Remus looked vaguely annoyed with this assumption. He never was the biggest fan of Quidditch.

Sirius nodded, setting John back on the ground. "I checked the calendar, and it's going to be a new moon."

Harry missed Uncle Remus' retort, a tap on the window catching his attention. A proud looking barn owl was perched outside with a neatly wrapped package tied to its leg. Harry crossed the kitchen and allowed the bird inside, offering it a piece of bacon as he freed it from its load.

He was stopped from opening the parcel by his father, who fixed him with a concerned look. "Who is that from?" James asked, drawing his wand and moving to join his eldest son at the window. Harry could understand his father's hesitance. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time someone had sent them cursed mail.

"It's the Diggory's owl," Harry replied quietly. At least he thought it was. Most owls looked the same to him if he were honest.

His father cast a few detection charms on the package before deeming it safe enough to open. The owl gave his father a dirty look as if offended that he thought it was carrying anything dangerous. It took off with an indignant hoot, landing on top of one of the kitchen cupboards, turning its back towards them.

Harry rolled his eyes at the dramatic owl before returning his attention back to the package. Taking off the paper, he was met with the sight of a woolly jumper and a book titled _Maya the Mute_. He reached for the jumper first, finding a note pinned to it when he tried to pull it over his head. It was punctuated with an alarming number of exclamation points and written in Cedric's messy scrawl.

_Harry!_

_Happy Christmas! You mentioned that your common room has been chilly lately, and I can't have my favourite snake freezing! I apologise for the Slytherin green, but Mum said the colour 'brought out your eyes'. I feel weird telling you that, so consider the jumper from her! Anyway, I found this book at Flourish and Blotts a few days ago and I couldn't not get it for you! I think you'll find it interesting— she reminds me of you!_

_Your friend, Cedric_

Harry blinked rapidly, hoping his family wouldn't see the tears that were forming in his eyes. He had sent a present to Cedric, of course: a beautiful glass globe that was charmed to project the night sky. Cedric had mentioned that he missed being able to see the night sky in the Hufflepuff dormitories, so when Harry had seen the little trinket in Diagon Alley, he hadn't hesitated to buy it. It hadn't been cheap, but then again, it wasn't like Harry had a lot of friends to buy Christmas gifts for.

The lonely and insecure part of Harry's brain had nearly convinced him that Cedric hadn't thought of him as a friend. But now, not only did he have physical proof that Cedric was his friend, but he had it in writing too. The thought filled him with so much warmth, he wondered if he was blushing. Tucking the note into the pages of his new book, Harry rejoined his family at the breakfast table.

The rest of the holidays continued in a similar merry vein, with equal amounts of time spent wrestling on the snow-covered manor grounds and reading his new books by the fire. He exchanged a few letters with Cedric, thanking him for the gifts and making plans to search Filch's office for the Marauder's Map. Cedric also cheerfully proposed searching for secret passages after they learned how to gain access to the school's kitchens (knowledge none of the former Marauders would divulge, much to Harry's annoyance).

But his last, and perhaps his most special gift, came to him towards the end of the Christmas holiday. Harry had been walking down the hallway to his room, flipping through a book on detection charms that he had found in the library when his father called him into his study. Harry's mind reviewed all the things he had done since returning for the holidays. Was he in trouble? Other than using his wand, he hadn't done anything wrong. Well, he had pushed his carrots onto his brother's plate during dinner, but that was hardly something to be punished for. Besides, his father hadn't even seen him do it.

Nervous, Harry marked the page and closed his book, clutching it to his chest as if it were a goblin forged shield, and tiptoed towards his father's office. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame, surveying his father. He didn't look angry, but then his father was staring into the fire next to the desk, so Harry couldn't see all of his face. Summoning his courage, Harry slipped into the room, stopping a foot away. His father didn't say anything for a long time, though Harry didn't mind the silence. If he were in trouble, he much preferred silence over a lecture.

Finally, his father turned to look at him, the firelight reflecting off his glasses lenses and obscuring his eyes. He reached out towards Harry and pulled him closer, scooping him up and settling him into his lap. Harry rested his head on his father's shoulder and his hand reaching up to play with the buttons on his robes.

"My father," James began at last. "Was older when I was born. He was in his seventies by the time I left for my first year at Hogwarts. I'm not seventy," James clarified at Harry's confused look. "Your mother and I had you when we were much younger."

Harry's brow furrowed, trying to follow where this conversation was going. Was… was his father trying to explain where babies came from? Because Uncle Sirius had already done that. Harry opened his mouth to tell his father, but he was already speaking again.

"When I left for Hogwarts, my father gave me a gift. It was something his father gave to him, as his father did before him." He reached around Harry to open a drawer and pulled a squashy looking parcel wrapped in silver tissue. "This has been passed down for generations in our family, going to the oldest child. I think it's time I gave it to you."

Harry wasn't sure what caused his hair stand on end— it could have been the gravity of the moment or perhaps the insane amount of ancient magic radiating from the gift. With trembling fingers, he pulled the ribbon that tied the present together, lifting the paper up to sneak a peek. Inside, was a silvery bundle of cloth that slipped through his fingers when he attempted to pick it up. No, it didn't slip through his fingers at all. His fingers _disappeared_. Harry quickly withdrew his hand, craning his neck to look up at his father with wide eyes.

James chuckled and carded his fingers through his son's messy black hair, his thumb brushing against the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "It's called an Invisibility Cloak. It aided me with many a prank and jaunts to the school kitchen after hours," his father explained. He fixed Harry with a serious stare that couldn't quite hide the humour in his eyes. "Not that you should do that."

Harry wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. Hesitantly, he reached out and stroked the cloak, which felt cool to the touch. It was as thin and diaphanous like fairy wings and the fabric shimmered as if it were woven from unicorn hair.

"Dad," Harry said, his throat tight. "I can't take this."

His father pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're not taking anything, love. I'm giving it to you."

"But what if you need it?"

"Then I can ask to borrow it," he said.

Harry remained quiet for some time, trying to collect his racing thoughts. "But what about John?"

James' brow furrowed in confusion, the hand in Harry's hair stilling. "What about him?"

"Shouldn't he get it?"

The question only seemed to confuse his father further. "Why would he?"

Harry fiddled with the edge of the cloak, watching his hands disappear. "Well, he's the 'Boy Who Lived', isn't he? Doesn't he deserve it more than me?"

"You listen to me, Harry," his father said, slipping his fingers beneath Harry's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. "John might be the 'Boy Who Lived', but that doesn't make you any less important. You are my firstborn and my heir. This cloak is your birthright. If John needs to borrow it, he may ask you, and you are free to say no. The only person who you would ever have to give it to is your oldest child when you feel they are ready for the responsibility."

Much to his embarrassment, tears flooded his eyes at his father's words. Whilst his father and uncles had always been very careful to treat both boys the same, it was easy to feel unimportant when your brother was heralded as the saviour of the wizarding world. Everywhere the family went, people wanted to meet John, shake his hand, or give him gifts. Harry often found himself pushed to the side, and though he never really wanted the attention John got, at least John got noticed. People only ever talked to Harry because he was John Potter's brother.

But there, sitting in his father's lap, he was receiving something that not even John could have. A priceless family heirloom that not even the Boy Who Lived could claim, and all because he was Harry. Not the older brother of Boy Who Lived, or the son of Lily and James Potter, or even that weird quiet kid who sat at the back of the class. He was Harry, and just Harry. Nothing more, nothing less. And to his father, that was more than enough.

There was something so precious about the knowledge that you mattered to someone, Harry decided. Especially for a lonely, insecure soul like his.

When the tears began to fall, his father brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs and pulled Harry to his chest, holding him close. Harry buried his face in his father's robes, the warm scent of his father's cologne consuming him. He wasn't sure why he was crying, really, not when he felt so happy. Or maybe it was because he was so happy, that his body could only hold so much of it at once. Either way, he clung to his father and allowed himself to be cuddled (even though he _was_ eleven-years-old), soaking up the love that only his father could give.

* * *

**"You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody." ―Maya Angelou**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still not dead! I debated whether or not to write this chapter, or focus solely on Harry's time at Hogwarts. In the end, I decided there were enough important elements in this chapter (receiving the cloak, being comforted by his father, cementing his friendship with Cedric) that couldn't be done properly in exposition. Let me know what you thought. I love reading your reviews! -CheckAlexa


	4. Spring 1990

Harry returned from the Christmas holidays with a small degree of trepidation. Whilst he was excited for classes to resume, he had enjoyed the two-week break from his dorm mates, and as such, was reluctant to resume sharing a living space with them once more. (It was rather nice to not wake up covered in itchy boils or find spiders in his shoes.) Leaving home meant abandoning the safety his family had created, but the magical allure of Hogwarts beckoned, and Harry felt powerless to resist. There were still so many places to explore, spells to learn, and that strange skeletal horse to befriend. Besides, he still had to return his library books.

His first night back, the other First Year Slytherins ignored him, which suited Harry just fine. He ate alone at dinner, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table and prodded his Cottage pie with his fork. Every so often, he would catch a glimpse of Cedric over at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by a horde of friends, and Harry tried not to let the scene bother him. Cedric couldn't help it that he was well-liked by their peers.

(When Harry left dinner early that night, nobody noticed.)

Harry wasn't sure why he woke up so early the next morning. The dormitory was still dark and Harry guessed there were still several hours before breakfast. He rolled over and watched the sun's rays refract on the surface of the Black Lake far above, casting faint, greenish ripples of light across the stone floor of the dormitory. A school of silvery fish darted by, followed closely by a hungry-looking mermaid with a spear. Harry closed his eyes, listening to her hauntingly beautiful voice as she called out to her friends. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the sound of water, pulsing, just on the other side of the walls. There was a faint rustling from somewhere nearby, which Harry presumed to be one of his dorm mates shifting in their sleep.

A soft whisper caught his attention and Harry's eyes snapped open. He lay in bed, ears straining. Were his dorm mates preparing a prank? He was surprised it took them so long. He had expected it the night before.

Another hissed whisper, this time more distinct. "_Cold_…"

That didn't sound at all like one of his dorm mates. He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted in the direction of the voice, which seemed to be coming from the end of his bed. Only, there was nobody there. At least not that he could see. Perhaps they were using an Invisibility Cloak? Or, he thought, a sickening feeling spread through his chest. What if the stranger had his Invisibility Cloak?

Harry sat up so quickly his head spun, and he dove for the little table next to his four-poster, searching for his wand and glasses. What his fingers closed around wasn't the familiar holly wand, but a firm coil of rope. Only, to his surprise, the coil shifted in his grip and something sharp pierced the skin of his hand. Jamming his glasses on his face and grabbing his wand, he lit the tip just in time to catch a glimpse of a long brown snake as it fell off the table with a heavy thunk.

"_You bit me!_" Harry gasped in surprise. He fumbled to hold his wand but the pain in his right hand caused him to drop it several times. Frustrated, he gripped his wand between his teeth and cradled his hand against his chest, hissing when his fingers brushed against the two puncture wounds. When the scent of his blood reached his nose, he swallowed down the panic that bubbled up in his chest.

His surprise again when he heard the same voice whisper, "_Sorry_."

Eyes widening in surprise, Harry leaned over the side of his bed and peered underneath. The snake was coiled around a stray pair of socks, its dark red eyes glinting in the wandlight. If he wasn't so irritated with the reptile, he might have thought it was cute. It flicked its tongue out at him as if it were mocking him.

"You can talk?" Harry asked the snake, feeling very silly. While he had never seen a snake in person before, he knew that they shouldn't be able to talk.

"Naturally," it replied, and Harry startled at its dry voice. "You can too?"

Harry ignored this. "Are you venomous?"

"Oh yes," it said, sounding smug. "I can kill many mice. Three a week!"

That's it. He was hallucinating. He hopped out of bed and threw on a pair of robes before crouching down next to his bed. Grabbing his school bag, he opened it up and instructed the snake to get inside.

If it was possible for a snake to look suspicious, this one managed it. "Is it warm?"

Harry crammed a scarf into his bag with a huff before commanding the snake once again. He crept out of the dormitory and made his way through the vacant common room. Even the most ambitious of Slytherins (and panicked Fifth Years studying for their OWLs) seemed to still be in bed. Harry checked his watch before stepping out into the dungeons— although it wasn't against the rules to be out of the common room so early, he wouldn't put it past Snape to give him detention anyway. The bite on his hand was becoming too painful to ignore, however, and if he had any hope of holding a wand by his first lesson of the morning, he would need to get the swelling down.

Madam Pomfrey was already awake and tending to a girl with a beak for a nose when he entered, so Harry deposited himself on his usual bed to wait. After the other student was discharged, the mediwitch turned her attention towards Harry with a heavy sigh and began to cast a series of diagnostic tests on him. "I wasn't expecting to see you until at least next week, Mr Potter."

Harry shrugged and allowed her to fuss over his hand. She summoned over a jar of leaves and instructed him to stick one in his mouth. It had a nutty, asparagus-like taste, and had an odd spring to it when he chewed on it. He watched with interest as summoned a little pot of glittering purple paste, which she rubbed the inflamed skin, quickly numbing the stabbing pain in his hand.

"This is a snake bite, Mr Potter," she commented.

Harry nodded and spit the chewed up leaf mush into a small dish Madam Pomfrey held out for him. She waved her wand and the mush glowed for a moment before she scooped it out of the bowl and began to slather it over the puncture wounds. "This will draw out the venom," she explained, noticing his interest. She tapped his hand with her wand, and skin knitted itself back together, leaving only two small impressions where the holes used to be. "Though I'd like to know how you managed to get a snake bite in January."

Harry gestured towards his school bag and lifted the flap with his good hand. The snake poked its head out, its tongue tasting the air. Madam Pomfrey gasped and whipped her wand towards the creature.

"No!" He said, hiding the bag behind him, taking care not to jostle the snake too much. He didn't want another bite, after all. "Don't!"

The mediwitch gave him an incredulous look. "Mr Potter, a venomous snake has no place in a school full of children and I certainly do not allow them in my hospital wing. It's done enough damage already."

Harry shook his head so fiercely, his glasses slid down his nose. "It wasn't its fault! I scared it when I grabbed it."

Madam Pomfrey looked even less impressed by this. "And why were you grabbing an adder at six in the morning?"

Harry elected to ignore this question. "You can't kill it. It's a smart snake. It can talk." Harry had no idea why he was defending the creature that bit him, but his heart clenched with panic at the idea that the woman before him might kill it.

"It can talk," Madam Pomfrey repeated, raising a single eyebrow at this.

Harry nodded before reaching into his bag and lifted the snake out, holding it between himself and the woman. "Ask it a question."

Madam Pomfrey's face contorted with confusion and she stood in silence for an awkwardly long amount of time. Only when Harry pushed the reptile towards her, nodding his head, did she roll her eyes and clear her throat. "Hello," she said, sounding like she wanted nothing more than to eject both him and his snake from the Hospital Wing.

The snake lifted its head and let out a single, unintelligible hiss before tucking its nose under its tail. Harry stared at the coiled up creature in his hands in confusion. Had it been a venom-induced hallucination that made him think that the snake was talking? He glanced back up at the unimpressed look on Madam Pomfrey's face and gave her a nervous smile.

"Well?" she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Harry stuttered for a moment before giving up and booking it, bag and reptile in hand.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry hissed when the doors to the Hospital Wing closed behind him. "You made me look like an idiot."

"Was I supposed to?" it asked.

"Yes!" He snapped. "She was talking to you."

"That's what she was doing? It didn't sound like talking."

When Harry pointed out that the snake seemed to have no problem understanding him, it huffed. "If that's what you'd like to call her grunts," it replied, flicking its tongue. "Do I look like an ape to you?"

Harry let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "What's your name?"

After explaining the concept of a name to the snake and determining that 'it' was actually a 'she', he began listing potential names for his new friend. The conversation carried them to the Great Hall, which was deserted save for a red-headed Gryffindor reading the Daily Prophet. By the time the rest of the school began to trickle in, Harry had already finished his breakfast and slipped out of the Great Hall so that he and the snake could continue their conversation somewhere without prying ears.

The snake was surprisingly chatty and Harry found himself sprinting to his first lesson. Professor McGonagall was not amused when he slid into his seat seconds before class began. While he was pulling out his homework, the chair next to him squeaked as someone slid into it. Harry didn't have to look over to guess who it was.

"How are you feeling, Potter?" Atticus Nettles asked, handing over their essays to McGonagall with a charming smile. She gave Nettles a thin-lipped nod and moved on. "We didn't see you this morning."

Harry frowned in confusion. Was Nettles making small talk with him? He shrugged in response, not entirely sure where the conversation was going.

"No nasty surprises then?" He asked, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "You were gone before any of us woke up."

Nasty surprises?— oh. Harry had never questioned the appearance of the snake, though in hindsight he probably should have. Harry felt silly for not realising that Nettles or one of his cohorts must have placed it there sometime during the night. Although he was no stranger to Nettles' mean spirited pranks, placing a venomous snake somewhere for him to find seemed to be an unnecessary escalation. True, adder bites were rarely fatal, but did Nettles know that?

Well, Harry wasn't about to give Nettles the satisfaction of knowing that his prank had been successful. Schooling his features into a suitably confused look, he shook his head.

Nettles gave Harry a wide eye look, further confirming Harry's suspicions. "Nothing happened to you this morning?" When Harry shook his head once more and tilted his head in confusion, Nettles glanced back at his friends, who were watching from several rows back. "You didn't go to the hospital wing?"

Another head shake.

"Where did you go then?" There was a small amount of panic in Nettles' voice, which brought Harry a small measure of glee.

Harry gestured towards his copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, and subtly nudged his bag further under his desk.

Nettles opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off by Professor McGonagall, who cleared her throat and fixed Nettles with an unimpressed stare. "If you have finished your conversation, Mr Nettles, I would like to begin my lesson."

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

At the end of the lesson, Nettles took off to rejoin his friends. Harry couldn't hear their hushed conversation, but they looked rather panicked, and he assumed it was because of the venomous snake that may or may not be roaming their dormitory. Harry couldn't help but let out a giggle before trotting off towards the library for his free period. He had a lot to learn about snake care, it would seem.

Genius Fratris

It wasn't until the next day when Harry and Cedric finally got a chance to meet up. After Charms, Cedric had a free period and Harry elected to skip History of Magic, so the two boys set off to explore the castle before lunch. After several unsuccessful attempts at gaining access to the kitchens and being chased off by Mrs Norris when she caught them scouting out Filch's office, Cedric suggested they take a break and walk along the Black Lake.

Harry peeked inside his bag where the snake was snoozing in his scarf, whom he had taken to carrying around. But even wrapped up, the snake complained about the cold, and that was inside the castle. Harry had a feeling that she wouldn't appreciate a stroll around the grounds in January.

Cedric noticed his hesitance. "Or we could go to the library?" he said, though Harry could hear the reluctance in the suggestion. Although Cedric was a good student, he avoided the library if he could help it. Harry didn't know the full story, but he had heard it had something to do with Madam Pince and Cedric's proclivity for talking.

Glancing around and seeing that they were alone, Harry extended his bag towards his friend and gestured for him to look inside. Cedric did so, brow furrowed, only to jump back with a strangled yelp when he caught sight of the sleeping reptile. Harry hushed him and quietly explained what had transpired the day before, hoping it would calm Cedric's nerves.

It did not.

In fact, it only served to rile him up further. Cedric's chest swelled with indignation, his grey eyes narrowing. "You need to tell a teacher. Snape's your Head of House. Isn't he supposed to stop these sort of things?"

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. "Snape hates me. I bet he's inviting them around for tea and discussing how to prank me."

"He's a teacher. He's not out to get you," Cedric said. When Harry opened his mouth to disagree, Cedric continued on. "Have you talked to any of the teachers about this?"

A shuttered look crossed Harry's face, and he drew away, reaching into his bag to run his fingers along the snake's back. She gave a contented hiss before burrowing deeper into her scarf. "What's the point? It's not like they've done anything to help me so far. I'm fine."

"Because 'fine' means you end up bitten by a snake," Cedric snapped. He watched Harry's shoulders collapse at his words, and guilt flooded through his veins. Making his friend feel worse about the situation wasn't going to make it any better. He heaved a great sigh and reached out to place a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry twitched at the contact, but didn't push him off, which Cedric supposed was a good sign.

"They're not mind readers, Harry," Cedric pointed out in a gentle voice. "They can't do anything if you don't ask for help."

He didn't reply, but that was normal when it came to Harry. Cedric had long accepted that Harry didn't talk for a variety of reasons, even if those reasons made little sense to him. He shot his friend a smile before pulling away and starting off down the corridor again. Harry followed after him though it was obvious his attention was elsewhere.

"It hasn't been all that bad," Harry said after a particularly long stretch of silence. "She's actually pretty nice."

Cedric stopped and stared at his friend, confused by the non sequitur. "She?"

Harry nodded, a grin lighting up his face that Cedric had never seen before. He tried not to back away when Harry extracted the adder from his bag, but it wasn't easy. Especially when Harry presented the reptile to him. "She can talk," Harry explained.

"Can she?" he ask in a strangled voice.

Harry nodded and looked at the snake, whose head tilted sideways like a curious dog. You know. If dogs were scaly and had red eyes. But as bizarre as the sight was, nothing was as surprising as the snake opening up its mouth and hissing at Harry. At least until, to his horror, Harry let out his own string of hisses in response. Goose flesh erupted over his skin at the sound.

Oblivious to his discomfort, Harry looked up at him, a small grin on his face. "You see? She's a clever girl."

"Is she?" Cedric said, feeling rather faint.

Harry frowned. "You just heard her. She can talk."

Cedric watched his friend, wondering if he was having a go at him. But the confused look on his friend's face all but confirmed Cedric suspicions: Harry was a Parselmouth, and he had no clue.

"I heard you talking to the snake," Cedric agreed slowly, trying to figure out to break the revelation to the Slytherin. "But I couldn't understand it."

Harry's mouth opened and shut as he tried to process what Cedric was saying. "I was speaking another language?" He asked in a small voice. It didn't take long for his face to crumple as he realised what Cedric was implying. Harry was quite clever, after all. "I can talk to snakes?"

"Hey, it doesn't mean anything," Cedric said, summoning all of his courage and placing a hand on Harry's shoulder again. The snake watched him with what might have been suspicion, but at least it didn't bite him. "Not if you don't want it to."

"I'm a Parselmouth," Harry stated in such a quiet voice, Cedric had to strain to hear him.

"It looks like it."

Harry's eyes darted between him and the snake, who was still sitting in his outstretched hands. "Am I evil?"

"Do you feel evil?"

"Would I know if I was?"

"I suppose not," Cedric agreed. "But Harry," he waited for Harry to look back up at him, and gave him a comforting smile. "You've managed not to murder your bullying dorm mates so far. So you must be an okay bloke."

Harry's face shone with gratitude at his words, and he let out a watery laugh. Bolstered by his friend's reaction, Cedric grinned and took a steadying breath. "So, what's your friend's name?"

"She doesn't have one yet," Harry explained. "I keep suggesting them but she hasn't found one she likes."

They spent the rest of their morning trying to come up with a suitable name for Harry's new ophidian companion. She finally settled on Medusa after Harry hissed the meaning behind the name. Apparently, she quite liked the idea of being fearsome enough to petrify people ("I bet I could catch even more mice!"). They parted ways when they arrived at the Great Hall, with the promise that Harry would talk to Professor Snape if the other First Year Slytherins were still harassing him.

Over the next month, Harry watched with amusement as the other boys tiptoed around the dormitory, flinging off bedsheets before they got in bed, and checking their bags before they stuck their hands inside. They seemed to be so worried about finding a snake that they forgot all about their hobby of harassing Harry. Though, whenever they relaxed for too long and turned their attention back to him, he made sure that Medusa was seen slithering around the baths or curled up on top of his pillow. On one memorable occasion, Peregrine Mulciber caught sight of her hanging from an emerald encrusted chandelier in the common room and had to be taken to Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught.

School became much more enjoyable after he found a way to keep the other boys in check. He still didn't say anything in classes, but his professors commented on his improvement in his practical and written work. Even Snape had stopped bullying Harry, though he began to watch him with an analytical eye. By the time the March rolled around, the abuse he suffered at the hands of his classmates was nothing more than a terrible memory. Finally, it would seem, things were starting to look up at Hogwarts, and Harry couldn't have been more relieved.

Genius Fratris

The stares began just before the Easter holidays. It wasn't much at first: glances out of the corners of their eyes, furtive peeks at the book he was reading in the Great Hall, and calculating looks when he wandered too close to a group of older Slytherins. Harry, who was used to people staring at him for his association with the Boy Who Lived, didn't notice until Cedric pointed it out. He told himself that, as long as he wasn't hexed while he walked to class, he didn't really care if people watched him. He could deal with the gawking. Merlin knew he had had enough practice.

Then came the whispers. Sure it was annoying when he could hear them hissing to each other, watching him from their table across the library. Of course he didn't like it when he walked into a room and the other Slytherins stopped talking, their pursed lips twitching as they tried to contain their gossip. This was also nothing new to Harry. People talked about him and his family all the time.

Sure, it didn't feel good when the First Years abandoned their table in the common room when he sat too close. Harry tried to remind himself that their avoidance was better than the outright hostility he had experienced the previous term. He had never been welcomed by the other members of his house, so it should hardly bother him that they wanted nothing to do with him now. And at least he got a table to himself, right?

Harry knew he shouldn't complain. Harry felt safe at school, which he couldn't have said six months ago. Who cared if the other Slytherins avoided him like he had dragon pox? Why should it matter to him when the other boys gathered on Adrian Pucey's bed with the curtains drawn shut, not even trying to hide the fact that they were discussing him?

Maybe that was why Harry found himself sneaking off to empty corners of the common room when he was supposed to be in bed. Late at night, when everyone else had long since retired, he would let Medusa slither around freely, and they shared hissed conversations. With Cedric floors above in the Hufflepuff dormitories, Medusa became Harry's chief reliance in starving off the ever-growing loneliness. Harry taught her how to fetch him small objects, and how to hide in the event that she might be discovered in his bag. They were even working on teaching her English, which was how Snape nearly discovered them just past midnight on the night before they were to return home for Easter.

"_Hide_," he commanded the moment he heard the entrance to the common room grind open. Harry snatched up the book he had been reading to Medusa and scrambled to his feet, casting a furtive look at his snake, who grumbled about leaving the warmth of the hearth. She slipped off into the darkness just as Snape emerged, the light from the dying fire casting grotesque shadows across his face.

The professor watched Harry with his usual calculating gaze for a moment before swooping towards him. Harry couldn't stop himself from taking a step back. Whether it was the billowing black robes or the tall, borderline skeletal figure, Severus Snape cut an intimidating figure. And Hogwarts professor or not, Harry didn't trust Snape not to chop him up and use him as potion ingredients.

"And what," he began in a low voice that sent unpleasant shivers down Harry's spine. "Are you doing out of bed?"

Heart pounding in his throat, Harry raised his book for his professor to see. Snape leaned forward and plucked the book out of his grasp, and turned it over in his hands.

"_A Compendium of Snakes of the British Isles_," he read aloud in a dangerously silky voice. His long, spider-like fingers began to flick through the pages before landing on the one Harry had marked. "_Common European Adder_."

Harry felt his stomach clench and he resisted the urge to glance back at where he had last seen Medusa.

Snape's thin lips pursed and he fixed Harry with a penetrating look. "I think you should come with me, Potter." It wasn't an invitation, and Harry had to jog to keep up with the tall man when he spun around and took off into the dungeons.

They arrived at Snape's office far too quickly for Harry's liking. He was ushered inside and instructed to sit in the lone stiff-backed chair in front of Snape's desk. Snape swept past and sat behind his desk, arranging his robes in a way that made Harry keenly aware that he was in his pyjamas and dressing gown. The Potions Master watched him through narrowed black eyes and Harry had to resist the urge to look away, lest his teacher thought he was guilty of something.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Even if he did, Harry wasn't about to incriminate himself. He shook his head and pushed his glass up his nose.

Snape hummed again, his face somehow pensive and irritated at the same time. "There have been…" he paused for dramatic effect, pinning Harry to his chair with a piercing gaze. "Rumours, Mr Potter. About yourself, naturally."

Harry mentally kicked himself for not paying a bit more attention to the gossip of his peers. It must have been bad if even Snape, who harboured an intense dislike for Harry, was getting involved. Even more so if the matter had to be addressed half past midnight. Harry attempted a nonchalant shrug, though the motion felt awkward and jerky.

Snape rolled his eyes before leaning forward, resting his elbows atop his desk. "I have received several complaints that you have been setting a snake upon your housemates," Snape began. "I assumed at first that these accusations stemmed from nothing more than petty, childish feuds. So, imagine my surprise when I learned from Madam Pomfrey this evening that you saw her for a snake bite three months ago." He paused and watched Harry, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

It would be just like the other First Year boys to blame him for the snake they let loose in their dormitory, Harry realised, setting his jaw in annoyance. He almost wished he had asked Medusa to bite the other boys; she would have greatly enjoyed taking a snap at Nettles. Well, there would be time for that later. For now, Harry straightened in his chair and fixed Snape with an annoyed (albeit far less intimidating) look of his own, and waited for the man to ask the question that caused him to seek out Harry in the middle of the night. But Snape thought Harry was going to rat himself out, he was sorely mistaken. If there was one thing that Harry was good at, it was holding his tongue.

They sat in silence for one, five, fifteen minutes, waiting, daring the other to speak first.

When a clock chimed one from somewhere in Snape's private chambers, the Potions Master let out a snarl and stood up, towering over him. "Where is the snake, Potter? I know you have one."

Harry blinked.

"Potter, you seem to be operating under the delusion that I relish being in your presence more than what is strictly necessary. I assure you this is not the case. You will tell me where you are keeping this snake or I will see to it personally that you are expelled before breakfast."

Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes at that. Having a pet snake was hardly grounds for expulsion, venomous or no.

Professor Snape's sallow face turned bone-white as a look of pure loathing marred his already unattractive face. "Have you lost the ability to hear as well as your ability to speak? Or perhaps—"

"Do you have any proof?" Harry found himself saying.

Professor Snape watched him with a cold, unreadable expression. Harry shifted in his seat, unsure if the man before him was annoyed at being interrupted, or caught off guard after hearing his student's voice for the very first time. At least he wasn't shouting. "Proof?"

Harry nodded and something that was a mixture of panic and nervous laughter bubbled up in his chest. "It's the Slytherin common room. Why would anyone be surprised to find a snake there?" Harry cursed himself, knowing this was exactly the wrong thing to say the moment he said it. Professor Snape was not the sort of man to tolerate cheek.

If it was possible, Snape looked more enraged. "Is this a joke to you, Potter?"

Harry shook his head and shrank back into his seat.

Snape leaned forward so that his hooked nose nearly touched Harry's own. "You have a book about adders," he snapped. "Why else would you have it if you didn't have an adder of your own?"

Harry tried not to wince. That book was a bit damning. "I like animals," he whispered.

"Do you?" His tone was mocking rather than a genuine inquiry.

He considered telling him about the skeleton horses he had befriended, but knowing Snape, the man would invent a rule that made interacting with the animals an expellable offence. He settled for a firm nod instead. The Potions Master glowered at him so fiercely Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from confessing. If anyone was at fault in this situation, it was Nettles and his friends for setting a snake on Harry, not Harry, for befriending the snake. A book on adders and a bit of gossip wasn't proof that something was amiss in the Slytherin dormitories.

And that was the crux of the matter. Snape didn't have any proof, and he knew it.

"Get out of my sight," he snarled, tossing the book at Harry.

Harry didn't need to be told twice and scampered from Snape's office. He didn't stop running until he was back to the common room, pausing only to scoop up an impatient Medusa before tucking himself into the safety of his four-poster bed. His pulse fluttered and for a few terrifying moments, he thought his heart might burst. Harry wasn't entirely sure what had transpired in Snape's office, but he wasn't keen to repeat it anytime soon.

"_Did the Smelly Man hurt you_?" she asked, bopping her snout against his nose. "_I will bite him for you_!"

"_No_," Harry breathed, stroking her smooth scales. "But thank you." After explaining what had transpired to the best of his abilities (clever as Medusa was, she was still a snake), he asked what she had done in his absence. "_You didn't try to eat Hera Urquart's pet rat again, did you?_"

"_Not this time. The vermin was in its metal nest again_," she explained with a sigh.

Harry listened with half an ear as she detailed her exploits, too strung out with his encounter with Snape to comprehend what Medusa was saying. It wasn't until she described a room full of books that he was able to give her his full attention.

"_Like a library?_"

Medusa gave a little wriggle that Harry liked to interpret as a shrug. "_It was behind the heat pit,_" she explained. "_It was warm. We should nest there instead_."

That did sound appealing, but for vastly different reasons.

"_We can look into tomorrow._" What was one more secret for them to discover?

'Tomorrow', however, turned out to be several months later. Between the Easter holidays, homework, finally locating the kitchens, preparations for exams, dodging his dorm mates, exams, and several dozen chunks of meat for the skeleton horses, the secret library behind the wall had more or less slipped his mind. It wasn't until June, after Madam Pince banned him from the library for an entire day ("It's much too sunny out for you to be in here," she had snapped, ushering him into the corridor. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he had seen her smile.), that he even remembered the possibility of a secret library hidden in the Slytherin common room. Cedric, who was torn between being bored by the prospect of finding another library and the excitement of discovering another of the castle's secrets, was enlisted to help him locate the entrance.

They began by lurking in the corridors outside of the Slytherin common room, hoping to find a hidden door or secret passageway that might lead to the hidden library. All they found was a dusty broom cupboard and two older students in a compromising position. After that particularly scaring incident, it became clear that they would need to focus their attention on the common room itself. So at nights, after everyone had gone to bed, Harry would sneak down and let Cedric into the common room. The two spent countless hours scouring every nook and cranny, trying to find the secret entrance Medusa had used. The snake herself was remarkably unhelpful in their search. When she wasn't sleeping on the hearth, she would disappear through tiny cracks they had no hope in fitting through, only to return hours later, covered in dust and with a full belly. Try as they might, there were no marks on the stone walls or trick books that led into a hidden room to be found.

On the eve of their separation, the two friends decided to forgo their investigation and enjoy each other's company one last time. Despite having to be up in a few hours to catch the Hogwarts Express, neither boy felt inclined to retire to their respective beds. They sprawled out on their stomachs in front of the crackling fire in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by sweets and snacks they had pilfered from the kitchens and debated the merits of whose home would be the easiest to visit. Cedric, who had warmed up considerably to Medusa, demanded visitation rights for the adder.

"Dad doesn't like it when we leave the manor," Harry explained after Cedric proposed exploring the small muggle village near his house in Devon. "Even if he allowed me to come 'round to yours, he wouldn't allow me to wander around a village unsupervised."

Cedric hummed, chewing on a Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Bean pensively. "Potter Manor sounds dead boring though," he replied. "No offence."

Harry shrugged. He wasn't wrong. "I suppose we could always—"

But what the two boys could do, he never said. Instead, Harry pushed himself up and crawled towards the fire, the light glinting off his glasses. Curious, Cedric followed suit, squinting as he tried to find what had piqued his friend's interest. It took him a moment to find it, and Cedric marvelled at Harry's keen eye. Because at the back of the fireplace, buried under thick layers of soot, was a small carving a snake. Harry reached forward, as if in a trance, and Cedric had to dive for his friend's wrist before he could stick his hand in the flames.

"Medusa said that the room was on the other side of the 'heat pit'," Harry whispered, shooting his snake a considering look. He spat out something in Parseltongue that Cedric couldn't follow, but assumed was a question of some sort. But before he could ask for a translation, there was a quiet whoosh, and the back of the fireplace disappeared.

"What did you say?" Cedric asked, a wide grin splitting his face.

"I asked her if she could find a way to open it," he replied, his voice dazed.

"Wicked," he breathed. "Do you think you have to ask it in Parseltongue?"

The question took Harry by surprise. "It would make sense," he agreed slowly. "Especially if Slytherin built it."

"We're in the Slytherin common room. I doubt Helga Hufflepuff put it here." He ducked Harry's swat to the head and crawled closer to the fireplace. "But how do we get through the fire?"

Harry glanced around the room before his eyes landed on the pitcher of pumpkin juice a house elf had provided them. He tossed the remaining beverage on the fir, which hissed and spluttered out, leaving the two first years in semidarkness. Ignoring Cedric's pouts that his solution wasn't 'nearly dramatic enough,' Harry inched towards the smouldering remains of the fire and squinted through the darkened opening.

"Wands out, do you reckon?" Cedric asked, his shoulder brushing up against Harry's. Together, they lit their wands and hopped over the steaming grate, hearts pounding with anticipation.

They were not disappointed. They stepped out of a marble fireplace that was even grander than the one in the Slytherin common room. Towering bookcases lined the walls, their tops disappearing into the dark, cavernous ceiling. A magnificent desk with carved snakes for legs stood at the centre of the room, upon which neatly aligned silver instruments glittered in the wandlight. Even the floor they stood on was a work of art, comprised of thousands of tiles arranged to look like the night sky. It was elegant and ostentatious in a way only something associated with Slytherin could be.

"I think this was Slytherin's private study," Harry murmured, gravitating towards the bookshelf, which was lined with thick leather-bound tomes and ornate scrolls. Fascinated, Harry slid a scroll out of its spot and settled into a nearby settee.

Cedric peered over his shoulder and frowned. "Can you read that?"

"It's written in ancient Greek," Harry replied, sounding out the foreign runes. "It's a different dialect though. Western, I think?"

"You know Greek?"

"Uncle Remus was an amazing tutor," Harry explained with a shrug.

Harry heard Cedric mutter something about 'stupid rich blighters,' but didn't pay him much mind. He would have poured over the scroll all night if Cedric had let him, only rising after Cedric reminded him that they still had to catch the train in a few hours. They made their way back towards the fireplace, and a hissed command opened the doorway once more. Harry cast a final, longing glance towards the study before stepping back into the Slytherin common room, where Cedric was already waiting, the Invisibility Cloak in his hands.

"We shouldn't tell anybody about this," Harry said, not sure how to articulate his thoughts. By all accounts, he should march straight up to Dumbledore's office and share their find. The books could be moved to the school library where generations to come could learn from Slytherin's resources. It would be selfish not to share, to horde the knowledge he had no real claim over other than being a Parseltongue and a Slytherin.

But he didn't. Because it was _theirs_. It was a secret that had forged a bond between the two boys, intertwining their lives and cementing their friendship. From it rose a brotherhood, and to let anyone in on that felt like a momentous betrayal.

Harry wished he could say what was on his mind, but the words escaped him, dying on his tongue before they even had the chance to form. But words weren't necessary with Cedric, who gave him a toothy grin, his dark grey eyes dancing with delight, because he understood.

"It will still be here next term," Cedric reminded him. He tossed the cloak over the two of them and together they set off towards the Hufflepuff common room.

* * *

**"_A ship in harbor is safe — but that is not what ships are built for."_ — John A. Shedd**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like not much happens in this chapter on the surface. This chapter was necessary, though, because I felt like it showed development in Harry's character. Many people have mentioned to me (including a former beta who got fed up with Harry), that Harry is incredibly passive. And they aren't wrong. Harry was traumatised at a young age and grew up in an environment where he was never challenged to overcome it. He's shy and scared and not sure what to do in a lot of social situations. But as his first year progresses, he starts to come out of his shell and figure out who he is as a person. For someone who is anxious, that can be a terrifying thing to do. So, whilst he might not yet have slain a basilisk, he's accomplished something that still takes a lot of courage and effort to do. Let me know what you thought of the chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! -CheckAlexa


	5. Summer 1990

Either his father was extraordinarily observant or Professor Snape was woefully inattentive because Mr Potter discovered Medusa within hours of Harry's return home for the summer. To say that his father was displeased with Harry's new pet was a vast understatement. It took a fair amount of begging before Mr Potter agreed to let her stay, provided that she didn't bite anyone. Harry didn't dare tell his father how she came into his life and went about unpacking the rest of his belongings. Medusa quickly claimed a sunny patch on the window sill in his room, much to the ire of Hedwig. The snowy owl watched the snoozing snake with a predatory look that made Harry nervous for both of his pets. He would have to buy a cage of some sort for Medusa— sooner, rather than later.

Although his father and owl were less than ecstatic about Medusa's presence, John seemed to think the snake was an excellent addition to the household. By the end of the first week of the summer holidays, it wasn't uncommon to find John wandering around the manor with Medusa draped over his shoulders. Although neither could understand each other, Medusa quite enjoyed the attention John lavished on her. Not that he told John this— other than Cedric, Harry hadn't told anybody that he could speak with snakes. Whilst his little brother would have thought that Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue was cool, he knew the majority of the Wizarding World didn't share the sentiment. And John was incapable of keeping secrets— especially from their father. Their father, who hated anything remotely tied to dark magic, including things like the ability to talk to snakes.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been impossible to hide this from his father, but as it was, Harry barely saw him for the entire month of June. It wasn't because James was even busy— John merely commandeered that much of Harry's free time. When his little brother wasn't interrogating him about Hogwarts, he demanded that they fly together in the grassy field behind Potter Manor. When they weren't flying, John was sprawled out on the floor of Harry's bedroom, flipping through the first year's textbooks and asking Harry to decipher his class notes. In fact, John kept him so busy, Harry barely had time to write to Cedric.

It was only after John came down with a cold, that Harry found any reprieve. With his brother laid up in bed, Harry found himself with an abundance of free time— though that didn't last too long either. After discovering their stock of Pepperup Potion was low, James convinced Harry to help him replenish their supply. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have grumbled about having to help brew over the summer holiday (potions, after all, was far from his favourite class). But James, who had confiscated Harry's wand the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts Express, had promised that Harry could cast any spells the potion needed if he helped. After a month of no magic, Harry jumped at the chance.

James caught Harry as he stumbled out of the grate, cleaning off his soot-covered robes with a flick of his wand. Harry offered him an embarrassed grin before taking his hand and following him through the Leaky Cauldron. A few people greeted his father but nobody stopped them, a stark contrast to how it would have been, had John accompanied them. They made their way through the pub unharassed and found themselves standing in the dingy alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron.

His father nodded towards the brick wall.

Harry beamed and skipped forward, drawing his wand and tapping the bricks like he had seen his father do so many times before. The wall melted away and exposed the vibrant street, which was already bustling with witches and wizards completing early morning shopping. The air was full of noisy street vendors, shouting and hawking their wares. A snooty looking man proclaimed in a booming voice that two sickles for a scoop of Floo powder was far too expensive, and accused the owner of Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment of committing highway robbery. A herd of children ran amuck between food stalls as their mother tried to buy groceries. A shopkeeper tossed a cat out the front door of Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, yelling at it for knocking over a vial of expensive cold cream. On and on it went, the vivaciousness that defined Diagon Alley's _genius loci_ surrounded him, filling him with a sense of both wonder and, well, magic.

"What do you want for your birthday?" his father asked as they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Besides books," he added when Harry opened his mouth.

Harry shut his mouth and gave his father an embarrassed grin. "I like books."

"I know you do," his father replied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head before musing his hair. "If you get any more, your bookshelf is going to explode."

"You could get me a book on expansion charms?" Harry suggested.

James let out a chuckle and pulled Harry closer, tucking him under his arm. They continued on towards their destination, a little apothecary towards the back of Diagon Alley. Greengrass Apothecary wasn't as well known as the larger Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, which catered to the casual brewer and potion's student. But what it lacked in size and name recognition, Greengrass' made up for in a wide array of odd ingredients, amassing a loyal customer base over the years. If Greengrass didn't have the ingredient you were looking for (especially if you were willing to pay), it probably didn't exist.

The bell above the door tinkled when they entered. They were greeted by the earthy, pungent scent of the hundreds of dried herbs, hanging in bundles from the ceiling. James made his way towards the counter, leaving Harry to peer into the barrels of ingredients scattered around the floor. He resisted the urge to stick his hand in a display of flitterby chrysalises and wandered deeper into the shop. He shuddered when he stumbled across a display of Adder's Fork, glad he had decided to leave Medusa in the loving care of John. She would have found the shelves of sliced up snake parts quite distasteful. He was reading a plaque beneath a bottle of Gaboon viper venom (which claimed the venom to be particularly useful for curing stomach ulcers) when his father stopped beside him.

"Why would you use a snake venom in a healing potion?" he asked, picking up the bottle to inspect it. "Isn't that counterintuitive?"

"Snakes have long been associated with the healing arts," his father explained. "Though I can't say I know why. We can find a book about it if you'd like." Only his father's voice didn't come from beside him. By the sound of it, he was still haggling with the sales clerk.

Heart pounding, Harry's gaze traced up the dark billowing robes of the man beside him, only to lock eyes with none other than Professor Snape. The two stared at each other, one with abject loathing, and the other in absolute terror. Harry felt his throat seize up and the gasp he would have let out spasmed in his chest. He was so stunned, he couldn't even run back to his father, let alone place the vial of venom back on the shelf. Instead, he remained crouched on the dusty wooden floor of the apothecary, looking every bit the simpleton he knew Professor Snape took him for.

"Harry, darling? Are you ready to—" his father's words died as he rounded the corner, taking in the pitiful tableau. He cleared his throat. "Professor Snape. How are you?"

If Harry thought his potions professor hated him, it was nothing compared to how he felt about James Potter. The glare Snape sent his father could have curdled dragon blood. His father gave no indication that he noticed Snape's hostility and gave him a serene smile, waiting for a reply. Snape responded by glaring even harder. With the absence of his professor's heavy gaze, Harry shoved the bottle back on the shelf and rose, scurrying to stand behind his father.

The movement drew Professor Snape's attention, who scowled down at him. "Having your son brew for you now, Potter?" He sneered in the venomous tone he usually reserved for Harry alone. "I always knew you were incompetent at potions, but this is pathetic."

James looked down at Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well, after how well he did in your class this term, I would be foolish not to."

Despite the tense atmosphere and the general untruthfulness of the statement, Harry couldn't help but beam under the praise. When the results of his final exams had been passed out, he had been pleased to see that his studying had paid off. Not only had he passed with high marks for all his classes, but he had also scored higher than Cedric in every subject but Transfiguration. Nettles had called him a swot when he found out, but Harry was certain he was just jealous— his primary bully hadn't done nearly as well on his exams. Though, considering how much effort the other boy put into tormenting Harry, it wasn't much of a surprise he had little time to devote to revision.

"Yes," Professor Snape drawled, ruining the moment. "A surprise to us all."

"He gets it from his mother," James replied in that same nonchalant way. Harry would have even believed it, had his fingers not dug into his shoulder. "She was quite skilled at potions if you remember?"

Professor Snape's jaw tightened and Harry swore he heard his teeth grinding.

Before Snape had the chance to respond, James bid the professor a polite farewell and ushered Harry out the door. His father didn't volunteer any explanation for what had transpired in the apothecary and Harry didn't pry. Professor Snape often left him in an untalkative mood too. They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping in the Alley and trying to forget about their encounter with the Potions Master.

Later that evening, with Medusa safely nestled in her brand new glass terrarium, Harry penned another letter to Cedric. He detailed the odd encounter with their potions master, though Cedric was largely uninterested in drama between the adults. In fact, he was more interested that Snape could find his way out of the dungeons and most of his reply centred on a compelling argument about how Snape was actually a bat Animagus. Cedric ended the letter by extending an invitation to visit his home in Devon, which Harry quickly accepted. Potter Manor, though vast, could be dead boring; the protective charms that surrounded the property rivalled even Hogwarts', keeping all but his father's most trusted friends out. A list did not include Harry's friends.

His father was reluctant to let him go, citing numerous safety concerns. Harry pleaded for days, trying to convince him otherwise, but his father remained steadfast in his decision. When he complained to Uncle Remus, his father's long time friend patted him on the head and refused to get involved, even if he did sympathise with Harry. His godfather, on the other hand, was more willing to intercede on Harry's behalf.

"You can't keep them locked up forever, James," Uncle Sirius murmured one evening after Harry was supposed to be in bed.

"I can damn well try."

"Harry won't see that you are doing this to keep him safe. He'll see you as a jailer who keeps him from his friend."

"I'd rather him resent me than be dead."

"He might not be dead, but how can he be truly alive if you don't let him live?"

"I have to protect them, Pads," his father said after a long bout of silence. His voice was wobbly and scratchy like he was trying to hold back tears. "I can't lose them too."

Harry drew away from the door to his father's office and slipped down the hall. It was a long time before he was able to push the sound of his father's sobs out of his mind and fall into an uneasy sleep. When he stepped out of the fireplace of Cedric's house several days later, there was little triumph in getting what he wanted. He didn't complain that his father followed closely after, and he couldn't find it in himself to feel embarrassed when his father interrogated Mr Diggory about safety precautions. If anything, he felt annoyed when Mr Diggory dismissed James's worries with a jovial laugh and a wave of the hand.

"The Weasley family lives on the other side of the town and the Lovegoods live just over the hill. They'll be fine."

James looked like he disagreed with Mr Diggory's assessment, and was even considering taking Harry home with him. He turned and fixed Harry with a stern look that did nothing to conceal his unease. "What will you do if something goes wrong?"

"Find a competent adult and hide," Harry responded.

James pursed his lips and gave him a stiff nod. He pulled Harry into a brief, yet tight hug, before disappearing back through the fireplace. Harry wondered just how brave his father had to be, in order to let him go.

"Good lord," Mr Diggory said with an astonished laugh. "Is he always like that?"

_Since Mum was murdered,_ Harry wanted to snap.

Mr Diggory, oblivious to the awkward atmosphere, began questioning Harry about his term at school. Harry answered as best he could, though he never had been very good at speaking to new people. Cedric noticed this and took pity on him by redirecting his father's attention, asking for permission to explore the nearby muggle village of Ottery St Catchpole. It was a warm, sunny day in Devon and, not wanting to chaperone two preteen boys, Mr Diggory waved them off and instructed them to be home for tea.

"You look like a prat," Cedric commented as they slipped out of the house.

Harry glanced down at his white collared shirt and sensible dark trousers in confusion. "This is what my dad wears when he has to work with muggles." At least he had had the foresight not to wear a set of robes. He knew Muggles didn't wear those.

"Yeah, your _dad_," Cedric emphasised, his grey eyes crinkling with mirth. "Haven't you ever met a muggle our age before?"

Harry had rarely met wizards his age before starting at Hogwarts. Where on earth was he supposed to find a muggle? "My dad is a bit overprotective," he admitted finally.

Cedric laughed at the understatement. "Ah well," he said before extending his hands towards the bag Harry had brought along. "My god-snake better be in there."

He rolled his eyes but flipped open the flap of his bag, allowing Medusa to rise up and poke her head out. Upon seeing Cedric, she hissed with delight and launched herself into his waiting hands. Cedric cooed over how big she had gotten in their month apart, and Medusa twisted so that he could better appreciate her scales in the sunlight. Harry spent the rest of the walk into town acting as a translator between his two friends. When they got close to town (even he knew Muggles would have been alarmed to see two boys playing with a venomous snake), Harry was forced to return her back to his bag. Medusa hissed and let him know that Cedric was her favourite human.

Ottery St Catchpole was a small but bustling town, and the boys had a grand time exploring it together. Harry marvelled in particular at the paper shop, and whilst it didn't carry any parchment, Cedric showed him something called a fountain pen which seemed much more convenient than a quill. The muggle bookshop they found was filled with a dizzying variety of fiction and non-fiction alike, full of knowledge he hadn't known had existed. They purchased lunch at a stand Cedric called a 'chippy' and ate their fried fish on the grassy banks of River Otter, tossing their chips at each other to see who could catch more in their mouth. The day possessed its own unique brand of magic, despite having a muggle town as its backdrop, creating a bubble of idyllic serenity that was uniquely theirs.

Their peace was ruined by a large group of children that Harry assumed were related, if their identical shade of flaming red hair was any indication. Four of the children in the river wading towards them, their trousers rolled up to their knees as they caught frogs along the river banks, whilst another boy walked along the bank, his nose stuck in a book. The children in the river were a rambunctious lot, their shouts piercing the hot summer air, only to grow louder when the other boy asked them to settle down. One of the taller boys called out a greeting when they saw Cedric and the hoard descended upon them.

"The Weasleys," Cedric explained at Harry's alarmed expression.

Harry felt the overwhelming urge to sink into the grassy bank beneath him and hide. Fred and George Weasley were well known amongst the Slytherins for their proclivity for pranking, and not all of their tricks were funny. Some were innocuous enough, like the time they spelled Cordelia Gamp's hair lime green or set off a Dungbomb under the Slytherin table. Other pranks were less amusing and more dangerous, like when they swapped out valerian sprigs for lavender in Potions class, causing Adrian Pucey's Forgetfulness Potion to explode. Harry was one of the nine students sent to the hospital wing that day and he was still rather upset about it.

"This is Harry," Cedric said after pleasantries were exchanged.

Percy, a Gryffindor Harry had seen around Hogwarts but never had known the name of, nodded at him before withdrawing from the group and continuing his book. Harry felt a small degree of envy at the sight. Reading seemed like a much more attractive way to pass the time than talking to the Weasley twins. He didn't even have the option to read as Cedric had threatened to burn any book Harry brought along. Instead, he was forced to loiter awkwardly next to his friend as he talked to the neighbours about people and events Harry had never heard of.

"What house are you in?" Ron, the youngest of the brothers, asked. He looked up at Harry in wonder, though not by much. At ten, Ron was already long and gangly, and his oversized hands and feet foretold another imminent growth spurt.

The other Weasley siblings turned their attention to him and Harry felt his throat tighten. "Slytherin," he managed to choke out.

Ron's nose wrinkled. "Why would you want to go there?"

"My favourite colour is green," Harry replied for lack of a better thing to say.

This seemed to be a valid response for Ginny, the only girl of the brood, who nodded sagely. Harry had the brief mental image of Ginny with a long grey beard like Professor Dumbledore, which was ridiculous, considering she was eight. Harry had to fight to keep the grin off his face.

"Wait," Fred said, eyeing Harry with suspicion. "You're a Slytherin?"

The twins had never targeted Harry himself, but it was obvious now that it had less to do with tolerance and more with his own anonymity. Harry wondered where the twin menaces had been all year. They had, after all, shared several classes with the Slytherins. When he nodded, the two bowed their heads together and began to converse in low tones. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach when the twins shot him identical, calculating looks. He had the feeling that he might no longer be safe from their torment, come September.

Ginny didn't seem to share her brother's wariness and plopped down next to Harry. "Do you like Quidditch?"

Relieved at a more neutral topic, Harry nodded. "What team do you go for?"

"The Holyhead Harpies, of course," she said before launching into a sermon about why they were "the best Quidditch team ever". Ron was able to forget his distrust of Harry long enough to join his sister and loudly explain that she was stupid for not supporting the Chudley Cannons. Harry admitted that he was rather partial to Puddlemere United, but agreed with Ginny that her team was an excellent choice.

"The Cannons, though," he sighed in mock disappointment. "You could do much better, Ron."

Ron's chest swelled with indignation. "They're having a bad season, that's all," he proclaimed. "Who wants to support a team that wins all the time anyway?"

While the Weasley twins left much to be desired in the way of company, Harry found that the two youngest were rather pleasant. Harry could see John getting on well with Ron, which wouldn't be a bad thing considering they would be going to Hogwarts together. Perhaps he should introduce them— Merlin knew how badly John needed a friend.

Ginny, on the other hand, was… well, Ginny. Harry didn't know a person who was comparable to her. The other girls he knew from school tended to hold him at arm's length— either because he was a Slytherin or because he was the brother of the Boy Who Lived. But Ginny didn't have any of those reservations. She didn't know who Harry was, or who his brother was, nor did she seem to care to find out. All she cared about was that Harry let her crawl into his lap and told her stories about Hogwarts.

Harry could tell that the Weasley twins weren't happy with how friendly their little sister was with him. When Ginny pleaded for him to write to her, he thought their heads would explode. He could feel the weight of their glares, boring holes into his back. He knew the smart decision would be to refuse. She was eight years old. She had six older brothers. Six older, _protective_ brothers. But when she looked up at him, her brown eyes blazing like the sun, he was powerless to resist her request. He knew that he would surely pay for it when classes resumed— if the twins didn't find a way to prank him beforehand. But the smile on her face was worth it.

Harry wouldn't know what that agreement would entail. He didn't know that he would have to provide play-by-plays of the five-day final match of the Quidditch World Cup later that summer. He didn't know that she would tell him about sneaking flights on her brother's brooms in the dead of night. That she would confide in him her desire to play Quidditch professionally. He didn't realise he would have to console the eight (almost nine!)-year-old when her brothers bullied her. He didn't know he would help her devise ways to exact revenge.

Harry hadn't learned how easy it was to talk to Ginny. He could tell her things he couldn't tell his father or his uncles or his best friend— like how lonely he felt sometimes, even when he was with them. He would eventually tell her that he was the elder brother of the Boy Who Lived. (And considering her crush on his brother, it was as awkward as one might think). He told her about his desire for people to recognise him for what he had accomplished, rather than his connection to John. She knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a sibling, after all. She had six of them.

But he didn't know any of this yet. All he had wanted was to make her happy. And then she beamed at him, and his chest burned with joy. He might not have made the wisest decision that day on the grassy bank of River Otter. But he knew, deep down in his soul, that it was the right one.

Genius Fratris

On the thirty-first of July, Harry awoke to John bouncing on his bed. His brother squealed with incomprehensible delight and dragged him down to the kitchen where a feast was waiting. It was the end of the table, however, that caught Harry's eye: a dozen brightly wrapped birthday presents sat, begging to be opened. He knew that only half of them were his, but the sight sent a childlike thrill through his body nonetheless.

By some stroke of fate (or perhaps the wild Halloween parties Uncle Sirius used to throw), both Harry and John had been born on the same day, exactly two years apart. Harry vaguely remembered the day John was born. He had been less than pleased to learn he would have to share his mummy and daddy. After promising that there had been no shortage of cuddles, Harry had accepted the squalling alien his parents claimed was his new brother, and that was that. Birthdays in the Potter home were always filled with love, and Harry knew his father took special care to make sure they were both treated equally, right down to the number of presents they received.

"Eat first," James admonished his sons with a laugh.

Harry nodded and tucked into his sausage and eggs with only slightly less gusto than John. Only after Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius arrived, were the brothers permitted to tear into their presents. Harry received several fascinating books from his father, who rolled his eyes at Harry's delighted cheers. Practical as always, Uncle Remus gifted him a handsome leather planner for school. Uncle Sirius gifted him a puzzle box he had found on his most recent trip to China and had filled it with enough sweets to last until Halloween. Cedric had sent one of the funny pens from the paper shop with a bottle of ink and instructions on how to care for it whilst Ginny sent a Howler extolling his virtues. That last one earned him relentless teasing from his family. After presents, the family gathered their broomsticks and went to play Quidditch in the back garden, with Uncle Remus playing referee.

The greatest gift he received, however, was the afternoon spent with his father. True, they only went to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies for the coming school year, but an afternoon with his father's undivided attention was still a precious gift. John had volunteered to remain behind with their uncles. Flying, he had proclaimed, was more exciting than restocking potions kits, after all. And if he hadn't wanted to venture into Diagon Alley (which would surely be packed with families completing their back-to-school shopping), no one could blame him. Picking up _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two_ and being mobbed by well-wishers wasn't an ideal way to spend a birthday. Fortunately for Harry, he had anonymity on his side, and he happily departed for the shopping district.

Whilst he hadn't been allowed to buy additional books from Flourish and Blotts, his father made up for it by buying them ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Although, he suspected the strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice cream was his father's way of bribing him into shopping for new school robes. Harry refused to admit that the bribe was effective, but allowed his father to usher him into Madam Malkin's with little grumbling. A flustered looking sale's clerk directed him towards a podium before shooing off a rowdy group of loitering teens.

His father fell into a conversation with another parent leaving him to the mercy of the harried seamstress. Harry tried not to fidget as the seamstress pinned the hem of his robes. He glanced over at the girl on the podium next to him, who also looked highly uncomfortable in her robes, though she managed to stay still for her own seamstress. Despite her pinched expression, Harry could tell that she was a very pretty girl. She had long, glossy black hair and smattering of freckles across her tiny nose. She was short, even compared to Harry who was amongst the smallest in his year. But whilst his height made him look scrawny, the girl somehow managed to make it look delicate.

"First year at Hogwarts?" he asked.

She gave him a shy smile. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her bell-like voice emphasising her lilting Scottish accent.

He offered her a small smile of his own. "A little," he replied. "Are you excited?"

She nodded vigorously and launched into what felt like her life story, starting with her birth to a witch and muggle, and concluding with receiving her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. "I'm hoping for Ravenclaw," she finished. "Like Mum."

Harry hummed for lack of a better thing to say. "Nobody truly knows where they'll end up," he said.

The girl nodded to concede his point and began to reply, only to be cut off.

"Ravenclaw is fine, I suppose," a boy said from behind them.

Harry startled before hissing in pain when the seamstress jabbed a pin in his arm. He craned his neck around, dismayed to find both Fred and George Weasley sliding over to the girl. They wound their lanky arms around her tiny shoulders, trapping her in place.

"But Gryffindor is the best house," said the one on the left.

"More fun than the dull bookworms in Ravenclaw," continued the one on the right.

"Or those duffers in Hufflepuff."

"Certainly better than the future dark lords you find in Slytherin," the right one said with a shudder. "I think I'd leave if I was sorted there. Wouldn't you, George?"

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes as the twins continued to spew heavy-handed insults about Slytherin. Even if Harry liked his house, he wouldn't have been offended. There was nothing clever or original about calling Slytherins "baby blood purists," after all. And calling them "slimy snakes" lacked any sort of logical impact, considering snakes had dry skin. After dealing with Atticus Nettles and his silver tongue for the better part of a year, Harry found himself unimpressed with the twins' juvenile taunts. That was until they called him a "Junior Death Eater".

Neither Fred nor George Weasley had been the first to hiss that particular epithet in his direction. He had heard it countless times, whispered in the corridors, shouted across Quidditch pitches, written in notes tossed at his head. But for some reason, hearing it fall out of one of the twin menaces lips, in the presence of this girl who had looked at him without fear or disgust, caused something to explode in his chest. It was personal here, he supposed. None of those people had known who he was beyond the colour of his robes. But Fred and George did. They knew his name, saw him trying to befriend someone and decided that was something that could not happen. It was a familiar, bruising feeling he was all too accustomed to.

They were just like Atticus Nettles and Graham Montague and Terrence Higgs, and all of the other Slytherins who gave him hell. Like Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington, who saw his loneliness and relished even more in excluding him. Like Cordelia Gamp and Beatrice Trouche and the other first-year girls who shrieked with laughter when they saw Harry humiliated. Just like Professor Snape who asked Harry a question in class, knowing full well that he physically could not answer it. They were bullies, Harry realised in an instant. And Harry _hated_ bullies.

His blood was pounding in his ears, his heart about to leap out of his chest. He wanted to open his mouth and disparage their character like they were doing to his. He wanted to make them hurt, embarrass them as they did him. He could feel his tongue, twitching in his mouth, ready to spew vitriol that could come so easily. He would let them hear what a real, well crafted, _Slytherin_ insult sounded like. For once, his throat felt clear, free, at the ready. All he had to do was open his mouth and he knew his voice wouldn't fail him.

Then he glanced at the little first-year girl, who watched him with curiosity, waiting to see how he would react. That's when he realised something: there was nothing to gain in this situation. Insulting Fred and George might feel good at that moment, but there was no long term benefit. They would only have more reason to dislike him, and he, in turn, would look cruel to the first year, tainting her fledgeling opinions of him. He would look every bit the cruel, stereotypical Slytherin. She would lump him together with all the peers that he disliked, which was a greater insult than anything the twins could come up with.

So he tramped down on his anger, quelled his quivering tongue. He was better than his housemates and he was better than the bullying twins, he reminded himself. He rolled his eyes and shot the girl a playful wink before shifting his gaze away, feigning boredom with whatever the twins had to say. He would let them think him haughty. He would show them that they were nothing more than inconsequential nuisances to him. But most of all, he would never let them think that they had power over him.

"I'm not sure leaving would make any difference," she said in her bell-like voice, cutting off one of the twins. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her brow furrowed in confusion as she raised a contemplative hand to her chin. When the twins paused their diatribe against Slytherins to ask her what she was talking about, she gave them a pitying look.

"You said you would leave if you were sorted into Slytherin," she explained in a patient tone. "But what good would that do? I mean, if all Slytherins are evil like you claim, then whether you decide to leave Hogwarts or not wouldn't make a difference. You'd already be evil."

The twin on the right's face twisted with annoyance. "Slytherin turns people evil," he huffed.

"So Slytherins aren't inherently evil?" she asked. "Then why not befriend them, and protect them from falling into wickedness?"

The right twin was losing his patience. "Why would I want to befriend an evil person?"

"You just said that it was the house, not the person, that induces evilness," the girl pointed out. "So befriending them would be the best course of action at diverting future dark lords. Unless of course, you do believe that only the wicked are sorted into Slytherin. In which case, you are already evil and leaving Hogwarts would be a waste of time. You might as well stay and take advantage of a full education and an impressive library."

"That's not—"

"Look," the girl said, fixing him with an unimpressed look. "Either the people are evil or the house corrupts them. You can't have both. Besides, if Slytherin house was such a bad influence, I doubt the school would have allowed it to exist for so long." She shrugged and hopped off her podium. "I don't know, your argument seems a bit silly doesn't it?"

"Supremely," Harry replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Enjoy your time in Ravenclaw…"

"Chang," she said, granting him a friendly nod. "Cho Chang."

"I'll see you around," he said before stepping off his own pedestal. He gathered his new sets of robes and moved to join his father, who was waiting for him at the till. He could hear the twins grumbling behind him, jumping onto the newly vacated pedestals, ready for their own robe fittings.

"Oh no," he heard one of the seamstresses say. He turned his head in time to see the woman collect her tools with a flick of her wand and stand. "You don't want me to fit you. I'm a duffer Hufflepuff. I'd mess it up."

The door to Madam Malkin's swung shut behind him before he could hear their reply. Still, he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face for the rest of the day.

* * *

**_"Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness."_ – Lucius Annaeus Seneca**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Use your free time to write!" I said. "Quarantine will let me be so productive!" I said.
> 
> Oh, that sweet summer child. So young, so naive.
> 
> This chapter took way too long to finish. But it is now. I hope you liked it. Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought? -CheckAlexa


	6. Autumn 1990

Chapter 5: Autumn 1990

The rest of the summer continued in a way that somehow both flew by and dragged on. Before he knew it, summer assignments were completed, trunks were packed, and Harry was standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, ready to begin his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Much like the previous year, Harry found himself in the company of his father, brother, and two uncles, who had come to see him off on the train. Much like the previous year, John was complaining to anyone who would listen about the injustice of not being able to start Hogwarts, despite being only ten-years-old. But unlike before, Harry didn't feel overwhelming dread like he had in the days leading up to the previous autumn term. This time, he knew where he would be sleeping, he knew his way around the castle, and he knew he had at least one friend.

Bolstered by the knowledge that he belonged there, Harry hopped on the Hogwarts Express and claimed a compartment for himself and Cedric. Medusa slithered out of his bag and onto one of the seats, letting out a content hiss as she settled into a patch of sunlight. His snake hadn't been pleased when he had asked her to get in and it had taken several mice to bribe her. She had grown over the summer, and while she was only about a foot in length, all his books said that she would get bigger. He would need to figure out a better solution for his reptilian friend. It was already becoming difficult to hide her in his school bag and he could hardly walk around with an adder draped over his shoulders.

His mind wandered towards extensions charms as he hefted his trunk up onto the luggage rack. He doubted he would be able to cast one himself, but perhaps he could persuade Professor Flitwick to help him? The charms professor had always been kind to him, and he was a Ravenclaw to boot: he would probably be thrilled to help him if he phrased it correctly. Maybe if he said he wanted to learn how to fit more books in his bag?

Two sets of rough hands interrupted his musing and Harry found himself pulled him into a compartment. A scuffle ensued while Harry scrambled out of their grip and fumbled for his wand, stomping on one of their feet in the process. His assailant swore colourfully and let him go whilst the other shot off a stinging hex. Harry ducked and spun to face his attackers, wand held aloft, only to find himself face to face with the Weasley twins. This revelation did nothing to calm him. He planted his feet and glared up at the boys, a defiant set to his jaw. He had expected a confrontation sooner or later, but he was surprised by the boy's initiative to harass him before the train had even left for the station.

"Don't you dare even think about talking to her, Potter," the one on the left said, stepping closer, towering over him.

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that. His wand dipped a fraction of an inch as he considered the boys in front of him.

"Our sister," the right one clarified. "We know you've been talking to her."

"This is your only warning: leave her alone. She doesn't need you corrupting her."

Harry managed to not roll his eyes. It would be so like the Weasley twins to think that he was a bad influence on Ginny. As if Ginny did anything she didn't want to do. If anything, he should worry about being corrupted by her. Not that he said this of course. His lack of a response only seemed to irritate the twins further.

The one on the left took another step forward and Harry was forced to crane his neck to look him in the eye. "You'll keep your snaky self away from her if you know what's good for you. Got it?"

Harry gave them a sharp nod.

The twins watched him for a moment longer. When it became apparent that this was the only confirmation they were going to receive, they shouldered past him, almost knocking him to the ground as they exited the compartment. Harry gave them a moment's head start before following after. He hopped off the train and rejoined his family, getting last minute hugs from his father and Uncles.

"Make sure to write and stay out of trouble," His father said before rapping Harry on the head with his wand in a desperate attempt to fix his hair. He sighed and declared it a lost cause. "Twelve-years-old already. When did that happen?"

"I think we're getting old," Uncle Remus teased while he pressed a kiss to Harry's still messy hair. "Have a good term, love. We'll see you at Christmas." His uncle slipped a battered book into his arms before nudging him towards Uncle Sirius.

"Speak for yourself," Uncle Sirius said, pulling Harry in for a hug. "Don't stay out of too much trouble," he whispered in his ear. "You should have a little fun at school."

Harry nodded at his godfather and the two shared a brief conspiratorial grin. He turned towards the last remaining member of his family with a sigh. John gave him a pathetic look, his hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears. Harry knew his brother was lonely at Potter Manor, even if he did have the undivided attention of their father and uncles. Familial love could only get you so far, and without Harry around, John wouldn't be around people his own age until Harry came home for Christmas. It was an isolating feeling that Harry was all too familiar with, and his heart broke for his younger brother.

"It's only one more year," he said, pulling him in for a hug when it became clear that he was content to mope at their father's side.

John glared at Harry's attempt to comfort him.

"I'll send you my class notes," Harry promised. "And I'll make study guides for you."

"Yay," John said, his voice watery. "More school. As if I won't be studying enough with Uncle Remus."

Harry sighed in defeat, knowing there was no consoling his brother when he was determined to remain morose. Nevertheless, he pressed a swift kiss to his brother's temple before stepping away to bid his family a final farewell. Unlike the previous year, it was much easier to hop aboard the Hogwarts Express when it blew its warning whistle.

A tiny hand grabbed a hold of him, and for a moment, he thought John was trying to stop him from catching the train. He spun around, ready to shove him towards their father, only to stop when he realised that it wasn't John, but Ginny.

"You promised you'd write to me!" she snapped, her eyes blazing.

The sound of carriage doors slamming shut, and Harry felt his heart leap to his chest. He knew he didn't have time to spare, that he should shake off her hands and dash off. He knew that Fred and George could be watching him at that very moment, ready to hex him into oblivion for breaking his promise to stay away from their little sister. But Ginny was his friend, and even if his common sense was screaming at him to run in the other direction, he would make time for her.

"Of course I will," Harry whispered, crouching down so that they were at eye level.

"But Fred said—"

"Not to speak to you," he said, reaching forward to tap her nose. "He didn't say anything about writing letters."

"So you'll still write to me?" she confirmed, hugging her skinny arms around her middle, looking confused.

Harry laughed and tugged on a lock of her fiery hair. "Expect Hedwig sometime next week."

The train's breaks squealed and the engine roared to life. He was out of time. Without waiting for her response, he spun around and leapt onto the moving train, swinging the door shut behind him. He waved to his family, who blew him kisses, and to Ginny who chased after the train, something between a sob and a smile on her face. He watched with a mixture of sadness and excitement as they got smaller and smaller as the train pulled away from the platform until they were out of sight altogether.

Cedric was already waiting for him in the compartment. His other Hufflepuff friends hadn't arrived yet, which was the only reason Medusa was curled up in his lap. He was hissing at her like one might meow at a cat, though the sounds held little meaning. Every once in a while, he'd let out a hiss that would resemble a word in Parseltongue, such as "_kettle_" or "_oak tree_", and Medusa would give him a confused look at the disjointed nonsense.

"_Is he broken?_" She asked when she noticed Harry's presence.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "_No more than usual._"

Cedric, who had become rather accustomed to their hissed conversations, ignored them completely. "What do you have?" he asked, nodding at Harry's book.

Harry glanced down at the faded cover. _Into the Aether: A Theory of Expansion_, the title proclaimed, its gold foiling long since peeled off. A grin split over his face at Uncle Remus' foresight. "A new project."

Cedric began to fidget in anticipation, an excited gleam in his eye. "What time shall I be at the Slytherin Common Room?"

Harry shook his head. "Not the first night back. The older students will be up late tonight and we have class tomorrow."

"_Bah_!" Cedric exclaimed. "You're no fun. Wouldn't you agree, Medusa?"

The snake nodded in agreement.

Harry rolled his eyes at their antics. "In the meantime, I found a charm that might be useful. Would you like to learn it?"

The spent the majority of the journey to Hogsmeade Station practising the Flame Freezing Charm. Harry explained it was so that they could enter Slytherin's study without having to douse the fire in the Common Room ("It'll be more dramatic, you see," Harry teased). Cedric's friends wandered in and out, inquiring about their summer and discussing the upcoming term. Harry stayed quiet for the most part, speaking only when spoken to. He was surprised to find them less exhausting than he had the previous year.

The carriages were already waiting for them when they stepped off the Hogwarts Express that evening, pulled by the same skeleton horses that he had seen the previous year. The creature pulling their carriage shrieked with what might have been delight when Harry offered it a hunk of meat he had smuggled from home. He'd have to seek out the horses this year, he decided as he clambered into the carriage after Cedric and his friends. He hadn't had the time to research them last year and they had completely slipped his mind over the summer. Tuning out of the noisy conversation around him, he reached into his bag and extracted his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and began to search for references to carnivorous skeletons.

His reading carried him all the way up to the castle, pausing only so he could move into the Great Hall. Waving goodbye to Cedric, he took his place at the Slytherin table and buried his nose in his book once more. He was aware of the seats around him filling up. He was also aware that his housemates were careful not to sit too close to him. That suited him fine. In fact, the only one to interact with him was a Seventh Year prefect, who snapped at him to put away his book before the Sorting Ceremony started. He complied and settled for surveying the Great Hall, his face a mask of polite disinterest. Then the doors opened and Professor McGonagall was leading in the nervous first years.

It was a different experience, watching rather than participating in the sorting. He remembered the dissociative feeling of walking up, the horror after being declared a Slytherin, and the terror when he realised he had no clue what to do next. The first student went to Gryffindor, who cheered as they greeted their newest housemate. Chang got her wish and skipped off towards the Eagles after a moment of deliberation on the hat's part. He didn't catch the next student's name, but it was hard to miss the girl as she bounded forward, her strawberry blond curls bouncing along with her. It took less than a minute for the Sorting Hat to declare her a Slytherin. The prospect seemed to excite her, a wide grin splitting her face. That was until the Weasley twins started to boo her and the unbridled enthusiasm melted into confusion.

That was the first tip-off that something was wrong about Grace Cooper.

She hopped off the wooden stool and picked her way towards the silver and green adorned table. As she approached, Harry noticed the colourful little clips in her hair, shaped like butterflies. They were made of the shiny, hard material that muggles liked to use. Plastic, he thought it was called. Witches don't put plastic in their hair. They used strips of ribbon or leather thongs, stick wood rods through their buns or hold it back with magic. But never plastic. His heart clenched at the sight. It wouldn't take long for the other Slytherins to spot what he noticed; they are a shrewd lot, after all.

Grace Cooper was a Muggle-born, and she'd been inducted into the house of snakes.

Her dark hazel eyes scanned the table, searching for a place to sit. As the first Slytherin of the year, she didn't have any other peers to sit with yet. A small blessing. He caught her eye and waved her over, motioning for her to take the vacant seat next to him. Relief softened her face, and Harry wanted to tell her not to thank him yet. She had a long year ahead of her, and the sorting hat had done her no favours.

"Take the clips out of your hair," he whispered into her ear the second she slid onto the bench next to him.

She looked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. He didn't give her a chance to ask why.

"My name is Harry, and if you want to survive, you need to listen to me." To anyone else, his statement would have been the epitome of melodrama. But those people hadn't walked through the hellscape that was the Slytherin common room.

"Do not mention to anyone that your parents are non-magical," he hissed, giving an apathetic clap when "Kapoor, Anjali!" went to Gryffindor.

Cooper paused, her hands tangled in her hair. "How did you know?"

Her question confirmed what he already knew and his heart squeezed in his chest. He glanced over at the other Slytherins, who were still watching the sorting, paying him no mind. "I'll explain everything later," he replied. "But Slytherin has a bad reputation. Muggleborns aren't always well received."

He hoped he was wrong, of course. He hoped that people had learned from the Great Wizarding War. He desperately wished that he was wrong, that Slytherins weren't all blood purists, spouting off hate they had learned from their parents. They weren't their parents, after all. Maybe they could think for themselves. Maybe they hated Harry for reasons other than being related to the Boy Who Lived. Maybe Cooper would be safe and their house would embrace her and protect her in a way they never had with him.

"Is it really such a bad thing?" she whispered, pretending to listen to Dumbledore's start of term announcements.

"I regret to inform you," Professor Dumbledore began, "that Professor Quirrell has decided to take a year-long sabbatical. In his absence, Professor Burbage will be taking over his Muggle Studies classes. I hope you will do all you can, to make her feel welcome."

"Another Mudblood lover. Just what this school needs," Nettles jeered, his voice carrying enough so that even several feet away, Harry had no trouble hearing it. Next to him, Cooper tensed.

"_Houses are just support systems,_" His father had promised. "_They don't define you._"

If only it were that easy.

Genius Fratris

Harry was already waiting outside the Hufflepuff common room when Cedric exited the next morning. This by itself wasn't an unusual occurrence. Harry tended to be an early riser and could usually be found loitering around the first floor of the castle before breakfast. What was different was that he wasn't alone. A willowy girl wearing green lined robes hovered at his side, speaking to him in a low tone.

"This is Grace Cooper," Harry said in lieu of a greeting. "She's our new friend."

That brought Cedric up short. Harry didn't have friends, himself excluded. Especially not one in his own house. "And is she okay with that?" he asked, shooting a wary glance at the newcomer.

Cooper gave him an appraising look and Cedric had to fight the urge to fidget in place under her scrutiny. "That depends. Will you call me a Mudblood?" She asked in a posh accent, her words clipped and precise.

Cedric startled at the vulgarity and opened his mouth to chastise her, only to pause when he registered her words. She was a Muggle-born? In Slytherin? Her presence suddenly made a lot more sense. Harry had a bleeding heart and a compulsive need to make friends (he had, after all, befriended a venomous snake after it bit him). "I should think not. That's not a word you use in polite conversation."

Cooper scrutinised him for a moment longer before giving a sharp nod. Spinning on her heal, she floated down the corridor in the direction of the Great Hall, her robes swishing in a dramatic fashion. Cedric and Harry exchanged a look before following after her.

"Will you bring her to the Study tonight?" he murmured, hoping Cooper was too far to hear their conversation.

Harry looked surprised as if the idea hadn't occurred to him. "You think I should?"

His first instinct was to say no. Slytherin's study was their secret, and he had no desire to let somebody new in on it. Plus, they didn't need another friend, especially not a girl, to intrude on their dyad. But then he reminded himself that the room wasn't his, and it wouldn't be fair of him to dictate who had access. If anything, it was Harry's room, seeing as he was the only Parselmouth in the school who could open it. And it wouldn't be fair to reject the girl, simply because Cedric didn't want to share Harry. After all, he had other friends (even if Harry was his favourite). Besides, Harry needed an ally in Slytherin. And by the sounds of it, Cooper would too. "Yes," he said at last. "I think you'd better."

"If the two of you have finished gossiping back there," Cooper called back. "I'd like to attend breakfast at some point this morning."

Cedric fixed a charming grin on to his face and caught up to the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Anything the lady wishes!"

Harry trailed behind the pair, his stomach writhing as if it were filled with snakes. He had been up since the crack of dawn, giving Cooper a crash course on the wizarding world. There was only so much you could learn in three hours though, and Harry wasn't sure Cooper had understood the magnitude of her situation. All it would take was one reaction for their housemates to realise what she was. Harry had advised her not to react to anything if she could help it, and he'd answer her questions later, but he wasn't sure how much good it would do. Cooper seemed annoyingly headstrong.

"He worries too much," she said in response to something Cedric had said. It didn't take much brainpower to deduce that he was the subject of their conversation.

"You'll get used to it," Cedric promised, shooting Harry a wink.

Harry scowled at the two of them. "You should be worried too, Cooper—"

"Grace," she corrected. "If we're to be best friends now, you should call me by my name. It's only right."

Cedric laughed and tugged on a lock of her hair. "Who said anything about being best friends?"

"Me," she replied, raising an eyebrow and daring one of them to challenge her.

When neither of them did (though it could have been because of their stunned disbelief), her face melted into a sweet smile. Threading her arms through both boys', she allowed them to escort her to breakfast, chatting amicably to them the entire way. They settled onto the same bench, Cooper sheltered between them, with Cedric going so far as to fill up her plate. She played the part of a simpering pure-blood princess with remarkable ease. Had Harry not known the truth of her heritage, even he would have been convinced.

Their breakfast was disturbed when Marcus Flint stomped into the Great Hall and threw himself down a few seats away. The scowl on his face sent a First Year sprinting away in terror, abandoning his half-eaten bowl of porridge. Harry could understand why: the burly fourteen-year-old already towered over six feet tall and possessed an infamous temper. Despite this, he was easily one of the more popular students in Slytherin, though, his Quidditch prowess might have been to thank for that. In fact, it came as no surprise to anyone that he had been named Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, despite being only a Fourth Year.

"You'll never guess who's been named Gryffindor's captain," He growled to his friends.

"Charlie Weasley?" one of them replied, his voice still heavy with sleep. "I heard him bragging about it on the train."

Flint shot off a hex at his friend, who yelped and upended a jug of pumpkin juice. "I thought for sure it would be Wood. I spent all summer devising plays and now I'll have to rethink my entire strategy."

"Will you be retrying the entire team?" Harry found himself asking.

Flint turned and glared at him. Though considering Flint was always angry, Harry wasn't too concerned. "Hadn't thought about it," he growled.

Harry hummed into his tea and went back to eating his toast.

"What's it to you?"

It took a moment for Harry to realise that Flint was still talking to him. "Even with his attention divided as Captain, Weasley is a devil on the broom," he said, managing not to stumble over his words. "You'll need a better seeker at the least."

"And at most?"

Harry couldn't tell if Flint was actually interested or was about to punch his lights out. He took a sip from his teacup to calm himself. He hoped the Fourth Year didn't notice that his hands were shaking.

"Wood won't have to worry about captaining, so the defence will be tighter. I heard he spent all summer practising, too. You'll want better scorers." He was thankful Flint didn't ask him for his sources. He could hardly tell him that Ginny had been complaining about Wood's presence at the Burrow, after all.

Flint's eyes narrowed even further. "Potter, isn't it?" When Harry nodded, Flint gave him a feral grin. Harry swallowed and resisted the urge to vomit. "Interested in joining the team?"

It was Cooper who answered for him. "He'd love to," she said in her clipped, precise voice.

The fact that Harry hadn't said anything didn't seem to bother Flint, who gave him a sharp nod. "Excellent. I'll see you at try-outs."

Harry spluttered in surprise, but Flint had already disengaged by the time he managed to formulate a reply. "Why would you do that?" He hissed at the girl at his side, ignoring Cedric's guffaws.

She shrugged. "You wanted to try-out or you wouldn't have asked. I saved you the trouble of having to do it."

"Do you even know what you volunteered him for?" Cedric asked.

"Well, I assume it has something to do with flying," she replied. "What did I sign you up for?"

"Quidditch," Harry said, only somewhat grumpily. She hadn't been wrong in her assumption, after all. He was interested in trying out. He just rather she didn't speak for him.

She gave him a questioning look, but before he could reply, Hera Urquart, a girl in Harry's year, inserted herself into their conversation. Urquart was an average looking girl, with dark hair, large doe brown eyes, and aristocratic features that were hidden under a layer of baby fat. Harry also knew that she owned a pet rat, if only because he often had to convince Medusa not to eat it. She was one of the more tame Second Year Slytherins, though the title wasn't difficult to claim. Just because Urquart didn't partake in the violent harassment of Harry, she was far from harmless. What she lacked in physical prowess she made up with her poisoned tongue. She could often be found following Nettles around, tittering at jokes made at Harry's expense.

"Are you a fan, Cooper?" she asked, surveying Cooper through narrowed eyes.

Ice filled his veins at Urquart's question. He hadn't explained Quidditch, he realised. He should have known that it would come up. It was only the largest sport in the wizarding world. How could he have been so stupid? Holding his breath, he turned to face Cooper, waiting for her reply.

Cooper paused for the briefest of seconds before the serene mask was back over her face. "No, I should think not. Mother says it isn't ladylike."

Urquart nodded in agreement. "Mother won't even let me fly," she said, somewhat wistfully. "She says it's too dangerous."

Crisis averted, Harry sunk back into his breakfast, keeping an ear on the two girl's conversation, ready to cut in if needed. His worries were unfounded, however, as Cooper gracefully nudged the conversation away from the topic with practised ease. Her manners were impeccable and spoke of years of etiquette training that all wealthy pure-bloods could identify with. And what she didn't know, she was excellent at faking. Cooper might have come from a muggle family, but it quickly became clear that she felt right at home in the upper echelon of society.

For the first time since her sorting, Harry felt hope flare in his chest. Maybe they could make this work after all.

A shadow fell over them in the form of Professor Snape, who sneered down his hooked nose at them. Every student within a five-foot radius fell silent as he loomed over the Slytherin table. Even First Years knew better than to draw the Potions Master's ire so early in the morning. A large stack of parchment was cradled in his arms, which Harry assumed to be their class schedules.

"Mr Diggory," Professor Snape drawled. "I don't recall you being resorted into my house."

Cedric was either very brave or a lunatic because he looked up at their Potions master with a cheeky smile. "I don't recall that happening either, Professor."

There was a beat of silence where they stared at each other for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Professor Snape raised a pointed eyebrow. "Why are you still here?"

Cedric gave a chagrined grin before rising. "I'll see you around, Harry," he said. Then, before anyone could react, he swooped down and planted a kiss on Cooper's cheek. "Good luck today, Gracie!" he called, sprinting off.

Hera Urquart giggled, only to stop when Snape sneered at her. Harry, who keenly recalled his last encounter with Snape, shrunk into himself and tried to draw as little attention as possible. With no further disruptions, Snape began to pass out their class schedules, stopping only to scowl at a brave first year that asked for a map of the castle.

Harry read over his schedule after it was thrust into his hands by his taciturn Head of House. He had an easy morning, with Charms first thing with the Hufflepuffs followed by an all Slytherin lesson of History of Magic. He debated whether or not he should sneak out after Binns took attendance. He could use the hour to do his homework (though he doubted Flitwick would assign any on the first day), or read the book Uncle Remus has given him. Then again, the ghostly professor's droning voice was more likely to lull him to sleep, rather than allow him to read in peace.

His mind still not made up, he turned back towards Cooper, who was studying her own schedule. He caught the tail end of Urquart giving her advice about her classes for the day. "McGonagall is strict," she said. "I won't say she hates Slytherins, but you'll really have to impress her if you want to get points in her class."

Harry had to roll his eyes at Urquart's assessment. Just because McGonagall didn't share Snape's blatant favouritism, didn't mean she hated Slytherins. If anything, Harry thought McGonagall was one of the fairest of all the professors. Even Sprout and Flitwick had their favourite students. Besides, Urquart was notoriously bad at Transfiguration. She never missed an opportunity to malign their professor.

Grace nodded in appreciation of Urquart's wisdom before glancing over at Harry. "Where is the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom?"

Urquart butt into their conversation once more with as much delicacy as a rampaging Erumpent. "I can show her around, Potter."

Harry levelled a stare at Urquart, considering her offer. The girl had been nothing but polite to both him and Cooper since she had joined them at the breakfast table. Sure, she came off as a bit nosey, but being curious about a new housemate was hardly a crime. Perhaps she was genuinely interested in befriending Cooper. But what if she wasn't?

Whilst the girl wasn't one of his main tormentors, she was still friends with the likes of Atticus Nettles. He wouldn't put it past any of the Second Year Slytherins to try to get to him through Cooper. They might try to separate them, which could prove dangerous for her. Or turn her against him, which could prove dangerous for him. He didn't need another enemy in his house. And besides, he kind of liked Cooper. She was almost funny when she wasn't disregarding her own safety or signing him up for extracurricular activities.

"What, don't you trust me?" she asked, voicing his inner thoughts.

His skin prickled as if hundreds of eyes were scrutinising his every move. He pursed his lips, his mind scrambling to find ulterior motives and hidden plots and plots within those plots. Maybe Urquart was being polite. Maybe the other Second Years were curious about Harry's interest in Cooper and wanted to see what the fuss was about. Or maybe they already guessed that she was a Muggle-born, and wanted to get her alone to confirm their suspicions.

If that was the case, they'd have to try harder. Cooper had said it herself: they were _best friends_ now, and he wasn't about to give that up. He rose from his seat, taking Cooper's schedule out of her hands and memorised it. After a moment, he turned and offered his elbow to her, nodding towards the direction of the exit. Grace smiled and threaded her arm through his. And together, they walked out of Great Hall.

Genius Fratris

Despite being the one to suggest it, Cedric was more worried about showing Grace the Study than Harry was. Even if she did dob them in, it wasn't like she could prove anything, considering Harry was the only person who could open it. Besides, Harry knew her secret. (Even if he never would reveal it, Grace didn't know that.) She had far more to lose if that secret was revealed than Harry's secret room. Cedric looked disturbed and pointed out that that was a very Slytherin sentiment. In the end, his fretting had all been for nought. Grace was far too enchanted with the Study to risk losing it.

"It's like something out of a fairy tale," she breathed after stepping through the grand fireplace for the first time. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she took in the dimly lit room and she wandered along the tall book stacks, her fingers running over the book spines. The cool mask she fixed to her face melted away, making her look several years younger than she was. She extracted a book at random and settled into one of the settees by the fire, dangling her feet over its arm. "I knew it was a good idea to befriend you."

Grace quickly cemented herself into Harry and Cedric's lives after that. It was difficult to go anywhere without her curly blonde head close by. Cedric appreciated the new conversation partner, a role Harry was only too willing to relinquish. She was brimming with curiosity and full of questions, which she saved up for their evenings spent in Slytherin's study. She was like a sponge, soaking up anything and everything that Harry and Cedric threw at her, and had the uncanny ability to know what to do with the information. The boys were surprised to learn that the posh, rich girl attitude they were accustomed to was an act to fit in with her snooty neighbours back home. ("I'm from Surrey," she explained with a laugh. "But if you grew up in Little Whinging, you'd learn to act like this too.").

She brought an interesting dynamic to their group, as well. Where Harry was often meek and Cedric played mediator, Grace was bold and almost Gryffindor like with her brashness. Her impulsiveness led to midnight raids on the kitchens, sneaking into the library after hours for no other reason than to say that they did, and on one warm night, swimming in the Black Lake. She introduced a certain brand of chaos into their lives, and for the first time in years, Harry found himself having fun rather than settling for content.

Three weeks later, Harry stood amongst the other prospective Quidditch players, clutching his Cleansweep Seven so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Grace, who had no interest in Quidditch, had elected to wander the grounds with Cedric, who, as a Hufflepuff, wouldn't've been welcomed at try-outs. Harry tried not to be disappointed, but it would have been nice to have friends cheer him on like the other students. All he had was Nettles hurling insults from the stands, and that didn't instil much confidence in him.

One by one, Flint sent them up into the air and watched them with a critical eye as they circled the pitch. Some Slytherins barely made it halfway before being kicked out of tryouts by Flint. One unfortunate Third Year crashed into a goal post and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing on a stretcher. Harry's own flight was less than stellar, and Harry had to swerve like a maniac to avoid Nettle's jinxes. He landed roughly on the pitch after a well-aimed sting hex hit him square in the back.

Despite Nettle's best efforts, Harry found himself pushed through increasingly gruelling trials as the crowd around him got thinner until only a handful of students were left. Then it devolved into what could only be described as a bloodbath. All prospective team members were sent up into the air and a scrimmage that vaguely resembled a Quidditch game commenced. By that point, the try-outs had been going on for hours and it took all of Harry's skill to stay on his broom. He spent the majority of his time rolling out the way of Bludgers and attempting to steal the Quaffle from the older and heavier players. He managed to score a respectable three goals before Flint called them down. Though compared to Adrian Pucey, who scored a staggering twenty-eight times, Harry wasn't all that confident with his performance.

He waited, battered and bruised, for Flint to finish making his final decision. His ribs smarted where they took a nasty hit from Graham Montague's elbow and daydreamed about taking a hot bath when he got back to the dormitory.

Miles Bletchley reclaimed his position of Keeper to a chorus of thunderous applause. The reedy looking third year was nothing but limbs and walked with the grace of a newborn giraffe. Despite his gangly stature (or perhaps because of it), he was adept at defending the goalposts and the obvious choice for the position. He didn't even bother listening to the names of the new Beaters, knowing there was no chance of being chosen for the position. The two boys who were selected were so big that Harry wondered if they took Swelling Solutions with their morning tea. It didn't seem possible to be that muscular. Peregrine Mulciber and Adrian Pucey joined Flint for the Chaser position. Pucey, despite being a Second Year, was agile in the air and had a wicked accuracy when it came to scoring. Mulciber was an interesting choice for a Chaser, as his massive frame was better suited for Beater, but Harry couldn't deny that the lumbering Fifth Year had one hell of a throwing arm.

He refrained from sighing. Chaser was the only position he had any hope of earning. He should have known that there was no hope in making it on the team. The other boys were bigger than he was and infinitely more aggressive. In fact, it was probably a good thing he hadn't been chosen. He made enough trips to the Infirmary on a weekly basis due to bullying. Madame Pomphrey would tie him to a bed for the rest of the year if he added 'Quidditch Injuries' to the long list of ailments she needed to fix up. Besides, if he wasn't on the Quidditch team, he would have more time to study.

"Potter," Flint called, holding a set of green robes emblazoned with the number '7'. "Seeker."

The air left Harry's lungs and he had to pinch himself. Surely he had misheard. There was no way he was seeker, not as a Second Year. Not when the Seeker from the previous year, Terrence Higgs, was standing feet away from him.

Higgs seemed to have the same line of thought. "_What_?" he yelped. He shot an incredulous look between Flint and Harry, certain he had misheard. Harry understood the sentiment.

"Potter," Flint repeated, looking more surly than usual. "Seeker."

"You want _him_?" Higgs asked. This time, his look of disbelief was marred by disgust, and Harry fought the urge to shrink in on himself. "Why?"

"I don't need to explain my choices to you," Flint growled, stepping forward and shoving the robes into Harry's arms when it became clear he wasn't going to take it himself.

"He doesn't even speak!" Higgs said, gesturing at Harry.

"He doesn't need to speak to catch the snitch," Flint snarled in reply. "In fact, it's better if he doesn't."

"I've been on the team for two years!" Higgs shouted, looking very much like he wanted to punch Flint in the face.

"And in two years, how many times have you caught the snitch?" Flint asked, his voice icy. He sneered down at Higgs in distaste. Higgs' mouth opened and shut, but he didn't answer. "That's right. None. I'm building a winning team here, Terrence, and it doesn't include you. Now, get off my pitch before I hex you."

Higgs' face turned puce. He snapped his jaw shut, spun on his heal, and left the field, though not before levelling a murderous glare at Harry.

"I better not regret this, Potter," Flint grunted before shoving past Harry and disappearing into the changing room. His new teammates watched him leave in silence before turning their eyes on Harry. No one spoke and Harry tried not to fidget under their calculating stares. Then, one by one, they turned and followed after Flint, until Harry was left standing alone in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

He was elated to have made the team, but that didn't stop his stomach from writhing like snakes. Higgs wouldn't take the loss of his position lightly, and he had always been willing to aid Nettles in his quest of tormenting Harry. What would happen now that he had a motive to harass him? He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but the shadows began to creep across the field, and he knew that dinner would be starting soon. Cedric would be worried. Grace would be insufferable, no doubt, when she heard the news. He could hear her taking credit for his spot already.

His spot, on the Quidditch team. Slytherin's seeker. He couldn't keep the broad grin off his face. He'd have to write to his family with the news. They'd be thrilled. Uncle Sirius might even show up to a match wearing green.

Life changed, as it so often did, but this time, for the better. Joining the Quidditch team afforded Harry a new status in Slytherin that he hadn't had before— namely, the majority of his Housemates weren't trying to send him to the Hospital Wing. That wasn't to say everyone was happy with his appointment. Higgs, in particular, seemed to take his replacement as a personal slight. He took to making snide comments whenever Harry was in hearing range and starting rumours about how he bought his way onto the team. Fortunately, it never escalated into anything physical, though that could have been due to Flint's uncanny ability to always be in the general vicinity when an altercation was imminent. His dorm mates had even called a ceasefire, much to Nettles' disappointment. They settled for pretending like he wasn't there when they could, and quiet contempt when they couldn't. Pucey even talked to him on occasion, and whilst it was always about Quidditch, Harry would take whatever friendly interaction he could get.

Of course, he still found himself dodging hexes from Gryffindor as the first Quidditch match of the season approached, but that was to be expected. Especially since the Weasley terrors had both made the team. Like a poorly choreographed dance, it became routine to avoid their jinxes in the corridors between classes. And on the first Saturday in November, Harry took great pleasure in snatching the snitch from under Charlie Weasley's nose and securing a win for Slytherin.

The after-party lasted throughout the night, and Harry didn't stop smiling the entire time.

* * *

**"It's only after you've stepped outside your comfort zone that you begin to change, grow, and transform."** _ ** ― Roy T. Bennett** _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just realised that you, as readers, don't have access to all of my notes, and therefore, don't know the names of the other Slytherins in Harry's year. So here they are, in alphabetical order, in case you were curious.
> 
> The boys: Graham Montague, Atticus Nettles, Adrian Pucey, Cassius Warrington
> 
> The girls: Aurora Dodderage, Cordelia Gamp, Willow Hornby, Beatrice Trouche, Hera Urquart
> 
> They're a mixture of canon names and names from a fantasy name generator.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you want to make me happy, leave a review and let me know what you thought!


	7. Winter 1990

The weather started to deteriorate and soon sunny days were nothing but a distant memory. Each gust of wind found its way through wool cloaks and the air felt damp in a way that promised snowfall. The poor weather did little to deter Flint, however, who trained them with an alarming fervour— one would think he was captaining the English National team, rather than a group of school children. It wasn't uncommon for Harry to return to the Common Room minutes before curfew in desperate need of a shower, his muscles quivering from overexertion. Flint would fix him with a critical look at the end of every practice and point all the mistakes he had made. Then he would demand that Harry, "Fix it before I do." Harry wasn't sure what that meant, but he took the corrections to heart. Marcus Flint was not someone you wanted to disappoint.

On top of his rigorous Quidditch practices, classes increased in difficulty. Now that they were second years, the professors didn't feel the need to coddle them as much. The amount of homework had increased and Harry spent countless hours cooped up in the library, trying to stay ahead of it. Cedric and Grace joined him, more often than not, though the latter had much less schoolwork to do than the boys. Whilst they toiled away at transfiguring buttons into beetles and writing tedious essays on the movements of Uranus, Grace could often be found with her feet propped up on their table as she lounged beside them.

"What are you reading?" A bossy voice interrupted his concentration one afternoon in mid-December. It wasn't often others intruded on their study time— Madam Pince was far too strict to allow much conversation. Even his most devoted bullies knew not to cause trouble in the library. Harry glanced up from his potion's text in surprise, taking a second to recognise the bespectacled before them.

"Hullo, Percy," Cedric greeted the tall redhead before them.

Weasley nodded before refocusing his attention back on Grace, or rather, the tome in her lap. It was a heavy, leather-bound thing, written entirely in classical Latin. She had found in the Study the week prior and had been trying to decipher it ever since. Cedric had rolled his eyes and lamented being surrounded by "overeducated swots". Grace had admitted to Harry that she didn't know Latin, and was only pretending to read it just to spite Cedric. (Harry helped her find and apply a translation charm that night.)

"Where did you get that book?" Weasley demanded, a pinched look on his face.

Grace bristled at his tone. "I found it on a shelf."

"Which shelf?"

"The one with the books on it."

Weasley let out a scoff. "You stole it from the Restricted Section, no doubt."

Cedric and Harry shared an uneasy look. "Percy, lay off her, alright?" Cedric said, laying down his quill.

Neither the Gryffindor nor the First Year paid him any mind. Grace let out a cold, derisive laugh. "What, because I'm a Slytherin?"

Weasley pinched his lips together looking very much like he wanted to agree with her statement but didn't want to sound prejudiced. "Give me that, you have no business with it. You'll ruin it."

"Stop!" Grace snapped, hugging the book to her chest and shielding it from Weasley's grabbing hands. "It's mine!"

"Leave her alone, Percy," Cedric said, standing up and trying to intervene. "It's not a library book."

Weasley ignored him once again and dove for the book, only to let out a strangled yelp. "You bit me!"

"You asked for it!" Grace snarled, curling into herself.

"It's _bleeding_!"

Harry stood as well. Madam Pince was descending on the squabble with a fierce look in her eye, and he was in no mood to be banned from the library for eternity. Flicking his wand, their belongings packed themselves into their bags, which he slung over his shoulder. Nobody tried to stop them as they beat their hasty retreat, though the whispers from the other students could still be heard even after the heavy library doors swung shut behind them. He wrapped an arm around Grace and steered her down the corridor.

"I'm not going to apologise," she said.

Harry hugged her shoulders a little tighter. They retreated to the Study, where a new rule was established: no books were permitted to leave. Other than that, neither he nor Cedric mentioned the incident again, and Grace seemed rather keen on forgetting the entire ordeal. Unfortunately for her, Professor Snape didn't share the same mind-set. He descended on her at breakfast the next morning, a burning look in his eyes.

"Why has it come to my attention that you have been biting other students like a rabid cur?" he asked, sneering down his long hooked nose at Grace.

"Someone should remind him that snitches get stitches," she grumbled.

Harry choked on his tea. He didn't know whether to be impressed or worried about her cavalier attitude. Even Cedric wasn't so bold to give Snape such cheek.

Snape certainly wasn't impressed. "I have half a mind— _what_?"

"'Snitches get stitches,'" she repeated. "It means that people who tattle will wind up in trouble. I heard it in New York last summer."

Snape's lips went bone white and his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. Harry, who had been on the end of that voice on more than one occasion, slipped further into his seat and tried to make himself as small as possible. "I have half a mind to put you in detention for the rest of the year. Assaulting another student like a common muggle—"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. "It's not like I know any spells. I'm a First Year!"

"Do you think the Headmaster will care?" Snape asked.

Harry was so focused on the argument, he belatedly realised a sleek eagle owl had landed in front of him. It nipped at his knuckles when he didn't remove the package from its extended leg. He frowned at the strange owl but offered some of his bacon to appease it. He didn't recognise the owl to belong to any of his family members, but that didn't mean much. His father was a busy man who worked on some Transfiguration project Harry wasn't allowed to know about, and his barn owl was often gone for days on end. Uncle Remus didn't even have an owl and had to visit the Owl Post Office every time he wanted to send a letter.

Curious, he reached forward and untangled to package from the owl's leg. Freed from its burden, the owl let out a disgruntled hoot and took off, though not before clipping him in the head with one of its wings. He fumbled with the parcel, trying to open it while he watched the argument with a mixture of horror and fascination. Snape's face had turned an odd puce colour and looked seconds away from strangling her. Grace, meanwhile, was determined to showcase all of her chutzpah and lack of self-preservation. It was decidedly un-Slytherin. Or perhaps it was very Slytherin because her nerve and determination were rewarded when she managed to talk her way out of detention.

Harry tried not to laugh at Grace's theatrics ("I'm just a little girl. What was he thinking, coming at me like that?"), knowing it would only draw Snape's attention. Unlike his friend, he did not have the skill to talk his way out of trouble. Why were his friends all lunatics? he wondered as he finally managed to open the package.

A high pitched scream tore through the Great Hall, drawing the attention of everybody in it. Harry jumped, falling off the back of the bench, the package landing on the stone floor beside him. Students clutched at their ears and shouted at him to shut the package up. Red-faced, Harry dove for the shrieking package, but a voice rose out of it, halting him in his tracks.

"_Not my babies, not my boys. Please, not my babies!_"

The air left his lungs. He knew that voice. It didn't matter that he hadn't heard it in nine years. It was as beautiful and haunting as he remembered.

"_Not them. Please no, take me. Kill me instead—_"

He knew what would come next. He covered his ears, having no desire to hear his mother beg for mercy. Then came those words. Chilling, hateful, evil. A literal death sentence for anyone on the wrong end of them. They haunted his nightmares just as much as his mother's last words.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a flash of acid green light and a thud as his mother fell unseen to the floor. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't. Of course it wasn't. Because he stepped out, rising out of the box, expanding like an Occamy, until he stood before Harry. Unlike the last time the two came face to face, Harry had his glasses on. He had no trouble seeing his pale, terrible face. He squatted down before him, his head twisting at an unnatural, inhuman angle.

"Time to die, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said, his voice even, cool, hissing. He raised his wand towards his face. Harry shut his eyes.

"_Riddikulus_!"

It was Professor Snape who cast the spell, not Voldemort. His voice was grating, heated, and full of fury.

It was nothing but a boggart, a small part of Harry's consciousness pointed out. Of course it was. Lord Voldemort was dead. Just like his mother.

"_Your father too._" It was a whisper, nothing more than a memory he had forgotten about.

"Potter," Professor Snape said. He was nearby, crouching beside him by the sound of it. Just as Voldemort had done.

(He bit down on his lip so hard that he tasted blood.)

Harry couldn't force his eyes to open, though he wished he could've. If he had, he wouldn't've had to relive the way his mother's body fell to the ground, or how Voldemort's crimson eyes surveyed him like a bug he wanted to squash. If he could open his eyes, he would be able to see the Great Hall, not his old bedroom in Godric's Hollow, its walls painted navy and decorated with gold stars. He wouldn't feel like he was sitting on his bed, John squirming and screaming in his lap.

"Potter," Snape said again.

Harry wanted to respond more than any time he had in his life. He wanted to open his eyes and look his Head of House in the eye. He wanted to laugh (because wasn't that how you finished off bogarts?) and say that he was fine. Because of course he was. He wasn't the snivelling, pathetic boy, Snape thought he was.

But his jaw was locked, proving that he was pathetic. His eyes were screwed shut just like a scared child. He was useless. He shut down when presented with a boggart like a pathetic child. For the first time in his life, Harry understood the term self-loathing.

"Mr Potter," Snape whispered.

Fury like he had never known welled up in his body. How dare he speak to him like that? He had no right to sound so gentle; like he cared. Harry's muscles spasmed, desperate to lash out and destroy. He wanted his damned limbs to move, to grab his wand, and hex Snape into a million pieces. His skin itched and crawled as if lightning was dancing across the surface.

A cold hand rested on his arm and long, spider-like fingers wrapped around his wrist. There was a great _boom_, and Harry knew nothing more.

Genius Fratris

He awoke to his father shouting. His father had shouted that night, too. Harry repressed a shiver and opened his eyes. He'd been moved to the Infirmary and someone had removed his glasses. He could see the vague outline of his father ranting at someone across the room, and beside him, were the blurry faces of Cedric and Grace. Cedric helped him sit up before handing Harry his glasses from the nearby table. When the room came into focus, he could see that his father was having a shouting match with Snape, of all people. The Potions Master was glaring at him with a look of malice he usually reserved for Harry.

"Oh, so a boggart decided to mail itself?" James asked.

Snape looked like he swallowed a lemon. "You have no proof of who did it!"

"We can start with those terrors he shares a dormitory with!"

"Feeling better?" Cedric asked, drawing his attention away from the feuding adults.

"I should hope so," Grace replied. "After what he did."

Harry wanted to ask her what had happened, but no sound came out.

"You blew up the Great Hall," she explained, ignoring Cedric's demands for her to shut up. "We had to have lunch in the Common Room."

Lunch? But they were eating breakfast. How long was he asleep for?

"'Blew up' is a strong—"

"And accurate—"

"Way of phrasing it," Cedric continued, ignoring her interruptions. "And it was only half of the hall."

"He blew out the window and the ceiling," Grace said, her hazel eyes wide and glittering with excitement. "Professor Flitwick cancelled class today so he could piece it back together."

Cedric stopped trying to fluff Harry's pillows and glared down at her. "You could try being a bit more sensitive," he snapped.

"Relax. Madame Pomfrey said he was fine," she said, leaning back in her chair and kicking her feet up onto his bed. She somehow managed to make it look cool, despite being so short. "There wasn't even a scratch on him. And I thought Harry was the worrier."

In all the time Harry had known Cedric, he had never heard him take a nasty tone with anyone. If he could feel anything other than the dull emptiness in his chest, he might have been surprised when Cedric lurched to his feet and glared at her. "Do you know what happened? Do you even know who that was?"

Harry thought this was a little unfair. As a Muggleborn, Grace wouldn't understand who Voldemort was or why people feared him. Sure, Harry had explained the basics, but there was only so much he knew and felt comfortable sharing. His brow furrowed as a spark of concern wove its way through his body. Harry sat up a little further, wanting to diffuse the impending argument but finding himself able to open his mouth. All the muscles in his face felt frozen.

Grace seemed to realise she was treading on thin ice. She righted herself and watched Cedric. "I can only guess it was the Voldemort bloke you all seem afraid of. I was trying not to bring it up, but since you want to discuss him so much—"

Red eyes, skin stretched tight over his skull, that awful, awful voice. A flash of green and pain. Harry shivered and his voice retreated further down in his chest.

Cedric, like so many wizards, flinched at the Dark Lord's name. "Don't say that name!"

"Why? He's dead," she snapped, rising to her feet. "What's there to be scared of?"

"An astute observation, Miss Cooper." It was Professor Dumbledore who spoke, standing behind her in leaf green robes embroidered with violets. "Fear of the name increases fear in the thing itself. Five points to Slytherin for your wisdom."

Grace looked like she was torn between beaming up at the Headmaster and sticking her tongue out at Cedric. She settled for tossing a triumphant look at her friend instead. Cedric rolled his eyes before returning to fussing over Harry, moving to allow Mr Potter to sit on the edge of the bed.

James pulled his son into a fierce hug before he pressed a kiss to his brow and tucked Harry under his arm. He wasn't sure if he was shaking more or Harry. He had been enjoying a quiet breakfast with John when he received the message that Harry had been in an accident. When he'd arrived at his former school twenty minutes later, smoke was billowing out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore himself had escorted James to the Hospital Wing, where his son lay unconscious.

The worry had turned to anger when Snape (Merlin he loathed that man), had described what had transpired over breakfast. Someone had thought it funny to send Harry a Boggart. Their attempts at humiliating him had backfired, however, after Lord freaking Voldemort appeared. The students, understandably, were sent into a panic at the sight of the long-dead Dark Lord. Then, to make it worse, Harry managed to blow up the Great Hall in a fit of accidental magic.

Harry's dorm mates were the obvious culprits to the crime, though Snape seemed content to ignore this. He was relishing in James's frustration, no doubt. When he sought justice through Professor Dumbledore, however, he found nothing but indifference. Whilst Harry was upset by what had occurred, no real harm had come to the boy. Besides, there was simply no evidence to implicate anyone. Even if they knew who the likely culprits were, they couldn't prove it. (James realised that Dumbledore hadn't said this in such a patronising tone, but he was at the end of his rope by that point.)

He focused his attention on his son, who looked well, all things considered. At least in the physical sense. Madam Pomfrey was a world-class healer— she wouldn't be working at Hogwarts if she wasn't the best of the best— but there were only so many things healing spells and potions could do. The shock of seeing your mother's murderer at breakfast wasn't something that could be fixed with the wave of a wand. Harry was quiet at the best of times, but his reaction to stress was a whole different basket of Kneazles. After Lily had died, something James was almost positive Harry could remember, his son fell silent. He didn't speak, he didn't cry, he didn't hum or laugh or any of the things little boys were supposed to do. Just unnatural and traumatised silence. The Healers he took him to had assured James that his son would speak when he was good and ready. Good and ready turned out to be six years later. He just hoped the silence wouldn't last so long this time.

"It seems Madam Pomfrey missed a spot," Dumbledore said, taking the seat next to the little Slytherin girl. He gestured to the scar on Harry's forehead with a sympathetic smile. "That looks painful."

Cedric shook his head. "That's always been there, Professor."

"Truly?" he asked, surprise gracing his features. "Well, I suppose it must have been. I should know better than to doubt dear Poppy's healing abilities. Might I inquire how you got it?"

Harry pursed his lips but didn't say anything. James would've been more surprised if he had. He reached up and brushed his fingers across the lightning bolt shaped that marred his son's brow before covering it over with his fringe. "It's from the attack."

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Nobody asked him which attack he was referring to (well, the girl—Grace, he thought she was called— seemed to want to, but Cedric shook his head). Harry tensed in his arms and James ran a comforting hand through his scruffy hair. Despite this, Dumbledore pushed on, much to James' annoyance.

"You seem to have a good idea of what Voldemort—" Cedric flinched and Snape hissed. "Looked like," Professor Dumbledore said, his tone sad.

Again, Harry offered no response. His fingers worried the crisp white sheets, stopping only when Cedric reached out to squeeze his hand.

"He was in the room that night," James responded in a terse tone when it became clear Harry wasn't about to. He kissed his temple and pulled him a little closer.

Harry leaned into his father's embrace, unable to feel embarrassed by it, despite the presence of his friends and professors. He closed his eyes and inhaled the woodsy musk that clung to his father's clothes, willing it to chase away the images of his mother's lifeless body. James Potter was very much alive, despite what Voldemort had told him all those years ago. His father was warm and his arms were strong around him. In his father's arms, he was safe.

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eye died at the pronouncement, his face growing hard. He leaned forward and tried to catch Harry's eye, which he resolutely ignored. "That must have been quite frightening for you, Harry," he said. "Was the boggart a memory of what happened to your brother?"

A hysterical laugh managed to bubble out of his chest before it too was squashed by this throat, like all the words he wanted to say. He wanted to shout at the Headmaster to bugger off, for one. Who did he think he was, asking him to relive the worst day of his life? He had never even met the man, and even if he had, Dumbledore had no right to his story.

Fortunately, his father seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Enough," his father snapped, his voice vibrating in his chest. "He's had enough for today."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, bowing his head in apology. "Forgive me, Harry. I forgot myself."

"You're distracting us from the real problem," Snape said in a pointed voice.

Dumbledore nodded, continuing to watch Harry through sad blue eyes. "Indeed. Dreadful events."

"The boy can't stay in the dormitory," Snape said, turning his dark eyes from Harry to the Headmaster.

"I agree," James replied, looking rather shocked at the fact. "There's no way he's going back there. At least until whoever sent him the package is punished. It wouldn't be safe."

"I'm more concerned with my other students," Snape growled. "After his little display in the Great Hall—"

Oh, right. He'd forgotten he'd blown that up.

"_They_ won't be safe around _him_. Not if his magic is so unstable."

His father rose to his feet, his face flushing with rage. "This isn't Harry's fault."

Snape's dark eyes landed back on Harry. For once, they weren't full of hatred, but cold and detached. By comparison, his gaze was almost kind. "They're terrified of the boy," he drawled. "More so than they were before."

"For a bit of accidental magic?" James said with a disbelieving laugh.

"That was more than a 'bit' of accidental magic!" Snape snapped.

Cedric, bless him, leapt to Harry's defence. "It wasn't even his fault! You can't control accidental magic. It's not fair to punish him for it."

"It might have escaped your notice, Mr Diggory," Snape drawled. "But life isn't fair."

Harry found himself agreeing with the Potions Master, loath as he was to admit it. Most kids made things levitate or change colours, not explode. They certainly didn't damage a millennium-old castle in the process. Plus, he was _twelve_. What twelve-year-old still had bursts of accidental magic? Maybe he was dangerous and unstable.

"I set the barn on fire once," Cedric said, interrupting Harry's dark thoughts. "Mum said it was like I called a bolt of lightning from the Heavens, and the barn erupted in flames. All because I didn't want to help shear the sheep."

Cedric, ever the loyal Hufflepuff, was willing to toss himself in front of the hippogriff if it meant to make Harry feel better. Harry felt a rush of gratitude for his friend, which chased away the icy numbness in his limbs. He glanced up at his friend, his lips trying to twitch into an appreciative smile. Cedric seemed to understand and reached forward to give his hand another comforting squeeze.

"I vomited over my teacher in year three out of spite," Grace admitted.

Cedric's face twisted in disgust, an expression that echoed on Snape's. "That's not accidental magic."

"Well, no, but since we were sharing our accomplishments, I didn't want to be left out." And there was Grace. She might not be the most comforting presence, but she seemed to pick up on Harry's desire to be distracted. And whether her story was true or not, it had the intended effect of drawing the attention off of him, if only for a moment. It was nice having such loyal friends, Harry decided. And a father who was willing to fight for him.

"Peace," Professor Dumbledore said, holding up a hand and rising from his seat. "There will be no punishment."

That was how Harry found himself being moved into a private room. His father had managed to convince Snape to move him out of the Second Year's boy's dormitory, citing that Harry would be safe away from the bullies. Having a private room as a Second Year was unheard of in Slytherin; it was a privilege granted only to prefects and head students.

The change didn't please him as much as it once would have. Where he once would have rejoiced at the idea of escaping his tormentors, now he felt as if he was being punished, no matter what Dumbledore said. He was already ostracised enough by the other Slytherins; why did he have to be banished as well? The adults said it was for his safety, but if that was true, why didn't they look for the person who sent the ruddy boggart? They, not Harry, were the danger.

Snape hadn't been exaggerating when he said the other Slytherins were afraid of him. He felt their eyes watching him warily as he crossed the Common Room that evening. Warrington actually flinched when Harry showed up to collect his belongings. Loneliness crept through him as he folded up his robes and placed them in his trunk. He'd rather they ignore him than fear him.

Genius Fratris

Christmas came and went. His family was used to morose moods that they weren't surprised that he didn't speak for the entire holiday. Still, they included him in their holiday cheer and festivities, for which Harry was incredibly grateful; it was isolating enough not being able to tell John all about his term at Hogwarts. Presents were exchanged and opened, with Harry receiving what Uncle Sirius called an "alarming" amount of books. Grace sent a large box of Muggle sweets, which the brothers had great joy in sampling. Cedric gave him a new school bag to replace the one Harry had blown up when he tried to charm it to better accommodate a growing Medusa.

By contrast, New Year's was a quiet affair at the Potter household. With the full moon having been the night before, Uncle Remus spent the following days recovering whilst his father and Uncle Sirius kept him company. Harry and John were left in the care of the family house-elf, Acorn, who graciously allowed them to help her make cookies. She also turned a blind eye to the boys devouring the entire batch in the time it took for her to whip up another one.

When classes resumed two weeks later, it was with a heavy heart Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express. The only bright spot was the presence of his friends, who exchanged excited chatter about their holidays. Cedric visited his family mainly, whilst Grace was well-tanned after two weeks in India with her mother. Harry listened and pet Medusa, who spent most of the time asleep, waking only to catch the frog flavoured Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans that Cedric tossed her way.

"How can you even eat those things?" Grace asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "They're revolting."

Cedric gave her a conspiratorial grin "That's half the fun! Back me up on this Harry!"

Harry shook his head and gave him a fond smile.

"See, he agrees with me!"

"No, he doesn't!"

He tried to remember how they included him in their conversations when he lay in bed that night, hoping to keep the loneliness at bay. His room was smaller than his former dormitory, but it was more than adequate for a single occupant. All of the necessities were covered, with a spacious bed and a private bath. There was an empty shelf for his books and a handsome wood desk in the corner with a matching wardrobe. There was even a luxurious wingback armchair standing in front of a marble fireplace.

It was all his, and he resented it. It was a symbol of his alienation and his inability to fit in with the other Slytherins.

At least Medusa was pleased with the arrangement. She was getting too large to comfortably hide from the other boys and was pleased with the ability to slither around freely. She especially appreciated the fireplace, deeming it an acceptable addition to their 'nest'. (Harry spent the first evening back at school charming the hearth so that she couldn't make a real nest in the flames.)

Harry tried to spend the least amount of time in his chambers as possible. He spent so much time in the library that even Madam Pince had started to notice and would greet him by name every time he visited. At first, Grace complained bitterly about having to trudge up several floors to do her homework when there was a perfectly good library steps away from the Slytherin Common Room. That was until Cedric pointed out that the only Parselmouth in England was out of commission. It took all of three weeks for Grace to come up with a solution. After classes on the first Friday of February, Grace had instructed (demanded) them to meet her in the Entrance Hall for an 'adventure'.

"Where are we going?" Cedric asked, drawing his wool cloak over his shoulders. It had snowed the previous day and neither boy was keen on stomping across the grounds. Grace ignored their protests (well, Cedric's at least) and led them through the oak doors and into the chilly afternoon air.

"Well, my mum's a doctor— you know, a muggle healer— and well, I wrote to her, about Harry," she began, shooting Harry an apologetic look. "And she told me that there've been studies that show that animals help with trauma. Especially horses. I thought we might try and find some?" She said in a tiny voice, looking more uncertain of herself by the minute. She reached into her knapsack and pulled out a handful of raw meat wrapped in butcher paper. She offered it to Harry. "You mentioned they're carnivores?"

Cedric gave her a bemused smile. "But there aren't any horses at Hogwarts."

Grace and Harry gave Cedric a confused look of their own. "I mean, there are those winged ones," she pointed out. "Is that not what they're called?"

Harry frowned and shrugged. They certainly looked like horses, though he never had figured out what they were.

Cedric grinned. "You're having me on!" he declared with a chuckle. But when neither of them joined in, the smile melted off his face. "Seriously, what are you talking about?"

The two Slytherins shared a look, trying to gauge their sanity. If both of them saw it, it must exist, right?

"They're these big black horses. With wings and fangs," Grace explained, flapping her arms before miming fangs with her fingers. "You must have seen them. They pull the carriages to and from Hogsmeade."

Harry nodded emphatically when Cedric cast them a dubious look.

"Right," he drawled.

Grace drew her wand and shot off a sting hex, hitting Cedric in the arm. "I'm not mad."

"I didn't say you were!"

"You were thinking it!"

There was one person who Harry could think of that would put that matter to rest. Harry huffed in frustration at his friends' bickering before spinning on his heels and taking off in the other direction. They scrambled after him, their argument already long forgotten.

"Harry!" Hagrid bellowed as he approached. The groundskeeper was out front of his hut, alternating between chopping firewood and tossing sticks for his massive boarhound to chase. "How's yer father doin'?"

He shot Hagrid a smile and a thumbs up.

Hagrid let out a guffaw and ruffled Harry's hair, nearly knocking him to the ground in the process. "What can I do fer yeh?"

Grace took it upon herself to explain their situation, if not a tad abrasively, leaving Cedric huffing and rolling his eyes. Hagrid took it in stride, despite never having met either of Harry's friends before, and patiently listened to Grace's description of the skeletal horses they had seen.

Hagrid nodded in understanding, his dark eyes… sad? "Yeh'll be talkin' about the thestrals, then," he said. "Dead useful, they are."

"So they do exist?" Cedric asked. "They pull the carriages?"

Hagrid nodded again. "I take it yeh want to meet 'em?"

Harry nodded, a grin breaking out on his face. He took the offering of meat from Grace and showed it to Hagrid. "He mentioned they like meat," Cedric translated.

"Yeh're a good lad, Harry," Hagrid said. "I suppose there's no harm in showin' 'em to yeh. They live in the forest, mind yeh, so stick with me."

The three students nodded eagerly and trotted after Hagrid, who patiently answered their questions. When they stopped in a large clearing, Hagrid cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a shrieking cry, reminiscent of the one Harry had heard the thestrals make. He grinned over at Cedric, who was bouncing with excitement. Several minutes and another shriek later, a single thestral emerged from the dense forest.

Heart leaping in his chest, Harry pulled out a strip of meat from Grace's stash and approached the beast. It watched him for a minute through those blank white eyes, trying to decide if he was trustworthy. Harry extended the meat. It shrieked in delight, almost knocking him over in its desperation to get to the food. When it had finished gobbling up its snack, the thestral began nudging his pockets, looking for more. He huffed in amusement before offering the thestral another piece of meat.

"I don't get it," Harry heard Cedric say. "What's he doing?"

"He's feedin' the thestral," Hagrid explained.

"But there isn't— he doesn't— where is—" Cedric's splutters of confusion had Harry turning around.

Hagrid gave them a kind smile. "I'd be surprised if yeh could see 'em, Cedric," he said. "Yeh're awfully young."

"What's that got to do anything?"

"Thestrals can only be seen by someone who's witnessed death," Hagrid explained.

Grace let out a soft little "oh!" and drew closer to Hagrid, hiding behind his moleskin overcoat. Harry turned around and surveyed the skeletal creature in front of him. Suddenly, the thestrals weren't so exciting any more.

"They're clever creatures, an' dead useful. Amazin' sense o' direction an' capable o' flyin' over great distances. They've got a bad reputation 'cause o' the death thin', but they're peaceful enough," Hagrid continued as if this was a Care of Magical Creatures class.

After a moment of hesitation, Grace stepped out from Hagrid's shadow, approaching the Thestral with a look of determination. "What's its name?"

"This one's called Ebony," said Hagrid. "Named after a former student. She was a bit off her rocker, now tha' I think about it... thought she was a vampire, o' all things." He shook his head as if to clear it of the thought. "She's got a colt around here, somewhere. Dark'ness."

And sure enough, a spindly-legged thestral trotted into the clearing, its high pitched shrieks echoing through the trees.

"It's so ugly it's almost cute," said Grace, offering the newcomer a piece of meat.

"I wish I could see it," Cedric said in a wistful voice.

"Well, when you watch one of your parents die, you can join the club." There was an awkward silence for a moment. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me," she said, not meeting anyone's eye.

Cedric stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Was it your dad?"

She nodded before bending forward and tickling the baby thestral under the chin. It squealed and collapsed to the ground, presenting its side for her to scratch. "He was a firefighter. One day his luck ran out. I was eight." Her voice wobbled at the end and she drew away from Cedric, trying and failing to surreptitiously wipe her tears. The baby thestral scrambled after her and head-butted the back of her knees with its head.

"Lost my dad too, when I was about yer age," said Hagrid, patting her back. "There's no shame in cryin', Gracie. No shame at all."

Ebony the thestral let out a soft, haunting cry and nudged Harry again. He lifted his hand and stroked her soft, leathery neck. When he noticed Cedric watching, he held out his hand and helped Cedric place a hand on the thestral's muzzle. His dark grey eyes widened in shock at the sensation.

They didn't stay long after that. They trudged out the forest and bid Hagrid a gloomy farewell before making their way up to the castle. It was too early for dinner but too late to make it back to their respective Common Rooms, so the three friends loitered in the Entrance Hall, shuffling their feet against the stone floor and avoiding eye contact with each other.

"That was a good idea," Cedric said at last. His tone was genuine and free from sarcasm. "Thank you for thinking of it. Even if I couldn't see them."

Grace shot Cedric a watery smile before tucking herself under his arm. "What did you think, Harry? Did you like them?"

Harry pursed his lips as he considered the question. Until Hagrid had dropped the whole 'can only be seen if you've seen death' dungbomb, he had enjoyed himself immensely. Perhaps that was unfair of him, to judge the thestrals. Before, he thought they were cute, in their own ghastly way, and they were no different after Hagrid had explained why Cedric couldn't see them. Harry gave his friend a nod and a shy smile.

Then something happened, shocking the three students: Harry giggled. It wasn't particularly loud and it almost sounded like he was choking. It wasn't even the progress that they had hoped for. He wasn't ready to speak yet, but one day he would. When he was ready, and on his own terms. After months of silence, a giggle was progress. And for now, that was enough.

Seconds later, Cedric and Grace pounced on him, enveloping him in a tight hug. When students stumbled across the scene later they rolled their eyes at the puppy puddle and stepped over them to get to dinner. Even the cold-hearted Professor Snape didn't deduct house points from them. Though that might have had something to do with the broad grin and peals of laughter coming from a certain dark-haired Slytherin trapped at the very bottom of the pile.

* * *

"_**We don't heal in isolation, but in community."**_― **S. Kelley Harrell**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You can thank my recent surgery for this quick (at least for me!) upload. I'm about to crawl up the walls.
> 
> Also, if you think Harry seems particularly bratty this chapter, then that means I accomplished what I wanted to do.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter! I promise I do read every comment you leave me! -CheckAlexa


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